RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A 
RED-HEADED  MAN 


IRAM.BOSWELL 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFOKK1A 

SAN  DIEGO 


V 


\ 


/\    \ 


Recollections  of  a 
Red-headed  Man 

BY 
IRA  M.  BOS  WELL 


"A  glad  heart  maketh  a  cheerful  countenance.' 
"A  cheerful  heart  is  a  good  medicine." 


i 


CINCINNATI 

THE  STANDARD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Copyright,   1915 
The  Standard  Publishing  Company 


DEDICATION 

To  Transylvania,  the  oldest  university  west  of  the 
Alleghanies ;  and  to  the  multitude  of  Alumni  who  have 
made  her  name  honorable  in  every  calling  and  profession 
of  life;  and  to  the  Professors  who  have  so  efficiently 
exercised  themselves  in  their  noble  calling,  this  little 
volume  is  lovingly  dedicated  by  the  author  in  apprecia- 
tion of  the  benefit  derived  while  a  student  in  her  classic 
halls. 


CONTENTS 


PACK 

INTRODUCTION  7 

I. 
MY  FIRST  AND  OTHER  PANTS 17 

II. 
CHILLS  24 

III. 
SWIMMING    28 

IV. 
RED  HAIR 38 

V. 
CALLED  TO  PREACH 53 

VI. 
MY  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY 62 

VII. 
THE  HOUSE  OF  BISHOPS 70 

VIII. 
STUDYING  NATURAL  SCIENCE 76 

IX. 

AN  INVITATION  TO  DINNER 81 

5 


6  CONTENTS 

X.  PAGS 

JUST  BECAUSE  I  AM  RED-HEADED 87 

XI. 
TWENTY  MILES  FROM  A  RAILROAD 98 

XII. 

SOCIAL  LIFE  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY 110 

XIII. 
VACATION   EXPERIENCES 122 

XIV. 
ORATORY  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY 133 

XV. 
ONE  MORE  WORD  AND  I  AM  DONE..  .  141 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  good  to  be  born.  This  statement 
will  not  be  contradicted  except  by  some  dis- 
putatious dyspeptic,  whose  morbific  diges- 
tive apparatus  transforms  him  into  such  an 
advocate  of  the  objective  case  as  to  make 
it  impossible  for  him  to  agree  even  with  the 
food  he  eats.  This  is  a  good  and  beautiful 
world  and  I  am  glad  I  was  born  into  it;  so 
were  the  human  sharks,  who  live  on  the 
little  fish,  glad  that  another  sucker  was 
born.  Our  start  in  life  depends  upon  our 
birth;  but  life  in  its  enjoyments  and  useful- 
ness depends  in  no  small  degree  upon  the 
liver,  and  the  liver  depends  upon  the  life. 

To  begin  these  recollections  with  my 
birth  may  seem  trite  and  unnecessary.  My 
only  excuse  for  so  doing  is,  that  is  when 
and  where  I  got  my  start  in  life.  I  have 
always  looked  upon  my  first  birthday  as 
the  most  important,  and,  taking  every- 
thing into  consideration,  the  most  necessary 
one  in  the  long  and  eventful  series.  With- 
out it  the  others  would  have  been  impossi- 


8  INTRODUCTION 

ble,  and  these  recollections  would  have  been 
lost  to  the  world.  When  I  was  born  I  was 
too  young  to  understand  this,  and  conse- 
quently did  not  appreciate  the  importance 
of  the  occasion.  Had  I  known  I  was  to 
write  these  recollections,  I  would  have  im- 
proved my  opportunities  then  and  since; 
and  not  only  would  I  have  had  more 
recollections,  but  what  in  many  cases  is, 
perhaps,  mere  hearsay,  would  be  knowl- 
edge. I  am  satisfied  that  few  know  just 
when  and  where  to  draw  the  line  between 
early  recollections  and  family  traditions.  I 
take  this  position  because  my  observation, 
not  experience,  has  shown  me  that  in  later 
life  so  many  have  difficulty  in  drawing  the 
line  between  fancies  born  in  the  imagination 
and  facts  belonging  to  real  experience. 
Among  this  class  are  those  natural-born 
musicians  who  blow  their  own  horn  and 
play  their  own  lyre.  Most  of  these  are 
like  the  trombone-player  in  the  band  which 
was  leading  a  funeral  procession.  In  the 
midst  of  the  most  beautiful  and  solemn 
part  of  the  music  he  suddenly  let  out  a  blast 
which  came  nearly  stampeding  the  proces- 
sion. When  the  bandmaster  demanded  the 
reason  for  such  an  unseemly  effort  he  ex- 
cused himself  by  saying:  "A  horsefly  lit  on 


INTRODUCTION  9 

my  music.  I  thought  it  was  a  note,  and 
determined  to  play  it,  if  it  burst  my 
horn." 

I  blush  to  admit  that  unbiased  and  re- 
liable witnesses  testify  that  I  spent  the  day 
of  my  birth  in  contemplative  silence,  refus- 
ing to  speak  to  any  one.  I  admit  that  such 
behavior  was  not  becoming  in  the  honoree 
of  such  an  event,  but,  in  extenuation  of  my 
failure  to  do  the  polite  thing,  I  plead  igno- 
rance, inexperience,  and  the  further  facts 
that  I  had  never  read  a  subscription-book 
on  "Etiquette,"  nor  taken  a  course  in  a 
correspondence  school  on  "How  to  Behave 
in  Polite  Society." 

I  started  in  life  just  where  every  other 
man  except  Adam  started;  but  there  were 
many  advantageous  circumstances  that  were 
peculiar  to  me.  For  these  circumstances 
nor  for  my  start  In  life  do  I  claim  any  credit 
or  praise.  I  am  glad  of  this,  for  it  has 
been  hard  enough  for  me  to  pay  for  all  the 
other  things  I  have  gotten  credit  for  since 
my  birth.  I  had  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  selecting  the  place  and  date  of  my 
birth,  nor  the  choosing  of  my  father  and 
mother.  I  am  profoundly  thankful  that 
these  matters  were  taken  entirely  out  of  my 
hands.  When  I  was  a  baby  children  did 


10  INTRODUCTION 

not  have  as  much  to  do  with  the  control  of 
parents  as  now.  I  rejoice  at  this,  for  I 
tremble  to  contemplate  what  might  have 
been  the  consequences  had  I  been  consulted. 
I  was  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  take 
a  wise  interest  in  such  matters.  I  have 
made  so  many  mistakes  since  then  that  I  am 
satisfied  that  I  would  have  made  a  botch  of 
the  whole  thing.  Besides,  I  might  have 
decided  not  to  have  been  born  at  all,  which, 
of  course,  would  have  ruined  my  whole  life, 
and  materially  reduced  the  world's  supply 
of  red  hair. 

I  was  ushered  into  this  world  not  quite 
thirteen  months  after  the  South,  personified 
in  Lee,  returned  her  unbroken  and  un- 
stained sword  to  its  historic  and  honorable 
scabbard,  never  to  be  withdrawn  save  to 
protect  the  downtrodden  of  the  earth  or  to 
defend  the  "Stars  and  Stripes"  from  being 
torn  by  foreign  foes  or  desecrated  by  the 
polluting  touch  of  ungrateful  traitors.  My 
people — my  kinsfolk  and  the  people  of  my 
native  State — had  returned  from  battlefields 
where  they  had  proved  their  valor  and  sus- 
tained their  honor,  and  were  patiently,  loy- 
ally and  heroically  rebuilding  their  ruined 
homes,  reclaiming  their  wasted  fields,  and 
recovering  their  lost  fortunes,  before  a 


INTRODUCTION  11 

Southern  mother  held  me  in  her  arms, 
taught  me  to  love  the  old  South,  to  have 
hope  in  the  New  South,  and  to  be  true  to 
our  reunited  country.  I  am  thankful  that 
the  beautiful,  tender  and  patriotic  stories  of 
the  "Stars  and  Bars"  and  of  the  thin,  hun- 
gry, ragged  regiments  of  "Gray"  told  me 
by  my  parents  always  increased  my  love  for 
the  "Stars  and  Stripes";  for  did  not  my 
ancestors  brighten  those  stars  with  heroic 
deeds  and  make  red  those  stripes  with  their 
blood? 

I  was  born  neither  in  a  cabin  nor  a  pal- 
ace, but  in  a  home.  It  was  a  comfortable 
cottage,  owned  by  my  father,  and  situated 
in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  little  cities  God 
ever  smiled  upon.  The  memories  of  my 
youth  are  mixed  with  the  odor  of  roses 
and  magnolias,  with  songs  of  mocking-birds 
and  floods  of  sunshine,  and,  better  still,  with 
kisses  from  lips  that  are  now  singing  with 
the  angels.  Had  the  wisdom  of  Solomon 
been  mine,  and  had  it  been  in  my  power  to 
select  my  parents,  I  could  not  have  made  a 
better  choice.  My  continual  and  earnest 
desire  is  that  my  life  be  worthy  of  them. 
Sweet  as  chimes  at  eventide  are  the  recol- 
lections of  my  home.  The  memories  of 
those  beautiful,  far-off  days  are  like  echoes 


12  INTRODUCTION 

"That  touch  and  thrill  the  listening  heart, 
And  make  a  thousand  memories  start 
From  valleys  slumber-bound." 

Like  the  mocking-bird's  serenade  that  used 
to  waken  me  in  the  early  morning,  they 
awaken  the  vanished  moments  that  lie 
asleep  upon  the  trundle-bed  of  long  ago.  I 
am  a  child  again.  All  day  long,  without  a 
care,  I  romp  beneath  soft  Southern  skies. 
The  sun  is  set,  the  shadows  creep  along  the 
ground,  with  fluttering,  rapid  wings  the 
swallows  circle  above  the  housetops  and  dip 
into  the  open,  hospitable  chimneys.  The 
stars  merrily  twinkle  their  good-night  kisses 
to  me  as  I  go  into  the  house  to  find  mother. 
I  always  found  her.  My  supper  over,  I 
kneel  at  her  side.  With  her  hand  upon  my 
head,  she  teaches  me  to  say: 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
And  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  keep; 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  take." 

A  few  minutes  more  and  my  tired  little 
limbs  rest  in  slumber's  sweet  repose.  As  I 
sleep,  guardian  angels,  with  faces  like  fa- 
ther's and  mother's,  bend  above  my  pillow. 
Ever  have  their  dear  faces  been  my  light; 
their  blessed  hearts,  my  comfort,  and  their 
noble  lives,  my  strength  and  example. 

There  is  no  better  place  on  earth  to  be 


INTRODUCTION  13 

born  than  Columbus,  Mississippi.  True, 
that  is  the  only  place  I  was  ever  born,  but 
I  was  born  there.  I  am  glad  the  stork 
took  me  to  my  native  city.  I  would  as 
soon  be  a  man  without  a  country  as  not  to 
have  been  born  in  my  native  State.  It  is 
worth  being  twins  just  to  get  to  be  born 
there  twice.  Columbus  is  noted  for  her 
beautiful  homes,  her  shaded,  flower-bor- 
dered streets,  and  her  cultured,  refined  and 
intelligent  citizens.  It  is  indeed  a  famous 
city.  Her  fame,  however,  does  not  rest 
alone  upon  the  fact  that  I  was  born  there. 
One  of  her  principal  streets  is  the  old  "Mili- 
tary Road,"  cut  in  1815  by  General  Jackson 
on  his  way  from  New  Orleans  to  the  Presi- 
dency. In  1540,  De  Soto,  on  his  way  to 
his  grave  in  the  Mississippi,  crossed  the 
Tombigbee  River  at  this  place.  Little  did 
these  two  great  men,  as  they  blazed  their 
way  through  the  trackless  wilderness  with 
axes,  realize  that  in  the  years  to  come,  not 
far  from  the  place  where,  perhaps,  their 
roads  crossed,  would  a  baby  be  born  who 
was  to  blaze  his  way  through  the  world 
with  his  hair. 

Besides  being  the  place  of  my  birth, 
Columbus  is  unique  in  another  thing.  It 
was  here  that  the  good  women,  whose  loved 


14  INTRODUCTION 

ones  had  been  offered  as  a  sacrifice  upon 
the  altar  of  war,  strewed  flowers  upon  the 
graves  of  the  Blue  and  Gray  alike.  This 
act  of  heroic  impartiality  was  the  first  of 
its  sort  in  the  history  of  the  world.  The 
soldiers  of  the  North  were  in  command  of 
the  city.  Tears  still  trembled  upon  the 
sorrowing  eyelids  of  the  South.  The 
wounds  of  war  were  still  bleeding  through 
many  thousand  crimson  lips.  At  first  some 
difficulty  was  encountered  by  the  women  in 
getting  permission  to  decorate  the  graves  of 
the  Confederate  soldiers — as  the  officer  in 
command  of  the  Federal  troops  feared  a 
riot  might  result.  Permission,  however, 
was  finally  granted.  When  the  roses  and 
lilies  had  been  lovingly  strewed  upon  the 
graves  of  their  loved  ones,  these  noble 
women,  whose  crushed  hearts  went  out  in 
sympathy  to  the  lonely,  sorrowing  hearts 
of  their  sisters  on  the  other  side  of  the 
struggle,  turned  from  their  own  sad  graves 
and  placed  lilies  and  roses  upon  the  graves 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  army  that  had  brought 
them  defeat  and  devastation.  That  was  a 
victory.  The  glory  of  it  will  never  be  for- 
gotten, but  will  forever  be  among  the  most 
precious  treasures  of  the  South.  There  was 
no  spirit  of  riot  or  revenge  there,  and  when 


INTRODUCTION  15 

the  commander  saw  the  magnanimous  un- 
selfishness of  the  true  Southern  heart,  he 
ordered  the  soldiers,  who  were  there  with 
loaded  guns  to  quell  the  expected  riot,  to 
fire  a  salute  of  honor  over  the  graves  of 
the  Confederate  dead.  His  was  the  heart 
of  the  soldier.  The  superb  act  of  these 
women  has  been  immortalized  in  verse  by 
the  Northern  poet,  F.  M.  Finch. 

"By  the  flow  of  an  inland  river, 

Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  have  fled, 
Where  the  blades  of  the  grave  grass  quiver, 
Asleep  in  the  ranks  of  the  dead: 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day, 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  other,  the  Gray. 

"These  in  the  robings  of  glory, 

Those  in  the  gloom  of  defeat, 
All  with  the  battle-blood  gory, 
In  the  dusk  of  eternity  meet: 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day, 
Under  the  laurel,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  willow,  the  Gray. 

"From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours, 

The  desolate  mourners  go, 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers, 
Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  foe: 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day, 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 


16  INTRODUCTION 

"Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding, 
The  generous  deed  was  done; 
In  the  storm  of  the  year  that  was  fading, 
No  braver  battle  was  won. 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day. 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 

"No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever, 

Or  the  winding  river  be  red; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever 
When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead. 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day, 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue, 
Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 

"So  with  an  equal  splendor 

The  morning  sun  rays  fall, 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 
On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all. 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment-day, 
Broidered  with  gold,  the  Blue, 
Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 

"So  when  the  Summer  calleth 
On  forest  and  field  of  grain, 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth 
The  cooling  drops  of  the  rain : 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment-day, 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue, 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray." 


I. 

MY  FIRST  AND  OTHER  PANTS. 

Long  before  my  mustache  had  pushed 
itself  into  the  public  eye,  or  had  done  any- 
thing to  merit  being  called  down,  I  fell  in 
love.  •  But  with  no  desire  to  pluck  the  tini- 
est feather  from  the  busy  wings  of  Cupid, 
nor  to  take  the  exquisite  and  illusive  tickling 
from  the  dart  of  that  daring  and  paradox- 
ical little  god,  who  transforms  the  cob  pipes 
of  old  bachelors  into  rattlers  and  turns  the 
love  of  old  maids  from  cats  to  cradles — 
that  little  god  who  builds  homes  out  of 
hearts,  gilds  a  cabin  into  a  palace,  strews 
the  path  of  youth  with  roses,  and  mellows 
old  age  with  music,  I  unhesitatingly  assert 
that  the  most  thrilling  and  impressive  ex- 
perience in  a  boy's  life  is  not  his  first  love 
affair,  but  his  first  pair  of  pants.  Few  can 
remember  the  first  time  love  entered  their 
hearts,  but  no  one  forgets  the  first  time  he 
enters  pants. 

Looks  have  much  to  do  with  a  boy's 

falling  in  love,  but  with  pants  it  is  different. 
2  IT 


18  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

The  material  out  of  which  the  pants  are 
made  is  not  material  to  him,  and  the  cut  of 
the  pattern  cuts  no  figure  with  him,  regard- 
less of  the  figure  he  cuts  in  the  pants. 
Pants  is  pants.  A  little  boy,  who  lived  not 
far  from  me,  got  his  first  pair  of  pants  a 
week  or  two  before  I  got  mine.  They  were 
the  first  pair  of  reversible  pants  I  ever  saw. 
They  almost  discouraged  me,  as  I  was 
afraid  the  style  might  become  epidemic  in 
my  neighborhood.  It  was  said  that  his 
mother  laid  him  down  on  the  cloth  and  cut 
the  pants  to  fit.  He  always  looked  as  if  he 
had  just  had  a  fit.  The  only  way  you  could 
tell  which  way  he  was  going  when  he  was 
standing  still  was  to  note  which  way  his 
toes  were  pointing.  You  could  not  tell  by 
his  face,  for  every  time  he  would  look  down 
he  would  think  he  was  going  the  wrong 
way,  and  would  turn  his  face  the  other  di- 
rection. He  frequently  made  himself  dizzy 
trying  to  adjust  his  face  to  his  pants — a  per- 
formance that  resembled  a  dog  trying  to 
catch  up  with  his  tail.  Many  times  his 
mother  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  re- 
turning from  school  or  just  starting.  But 
he  was  proud  of  his  pants.  Notwithstand- 
ing their  twinlike  appearance,  they  had  two 
advantages.  If  he  put  them  on  wrong  side 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  19 

before,  he  did  not  have  to  take  them  off; 
and  his  mother  often  got  out  of  the  notion 
of  whipping  him  by  the  time  she  located  the 
proper  place  to  apply  the  slipper. 

One  day  my  mother  sent  to  a  Mrs. 
Smith's  to  borrow  a  pair  of  her  son  Billy's 
pants  to  use  as  a  pattern  for  a  pair  for  me. 
Mother  tried  them  on  me  to  see  about  the 
fit.  She  saw  about  it;  for  I  had  one  when 
she  made  an  effort  to  extract  me  from  the 
pants.  I  did  a  Marathon  all  over  the  house, 
up  stairs  and  down  stairs.  Running  sort  of 
ran  in  our  family.  I  was  some  runner  when 
I  had  an  incentive.  Mother  was  some  in- 
centive. She  was  some  runner  herself.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  found  myself  in  her 
lap  with  my  body  bent  at  a  right  angle — 
just  the  right  angle  for  the  proper  applica- 
tion of  a  slipper.  As  I  now  recall  the  mat- 
ter, those  were  the  warmest  pants  I  ever 
wore.  At  the  time  I  wished  that  Billy  was 
in  them  and  I  was  in  a  cooler  pair.  Since 
then  I  have  often  heard  of  the  seat  of  war, 
and  I  am  satisfied  now  those  pants  contained 
one.  The  first  time  I  heard  a  band  play 
"A  Hot  Time  in 'the  Old  Town  To-night" 
I  was  convinced  that  my  mother  originated 
the  tune  the  day  she  played  upon  my  anat- 
omy with  her  slipper,  only  the  words  of  my 


20  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

song  would  have  been  "A  Hot  Time  in 
Billy's  Pants  To-day." 

Like  most  of  the  mothers  of  that  day, 
my  mother  had  rather  old-fashioned  notions 
about  the  fit  of  a  boy's  clothes.  She  always 
insisted  on  my  having  them  large  enough 
to  allow  for  my  growth.  Her  allowance  was 
rather  liberal.  She  seemed  to  think  that  if 
they  should  fit  me  when  they  were  new,  I 
would  burst  them  before  they  were  worn- 
out.  This  economic  principle  of  hers  kept 
me  a  year  behind  my  clothes.  By  the  time 
they  would  fit  me  they  were  worn-out.  I 
really  think  I  stunted  myself  trying  to  grow 
fast  enough  to  catch  up  with  my  clothes. 
The  only  parts  of  my  body  that  did  their 
duty  in  the  growing  line  were  my  feet. 
They  rather  overdid  the  thing.  It  made 
no  difference  how  big  I  got  my  shoes,  they 
were  too  little  for  me  before  they  quit 
squeaking.  By  the  way,  I  wonder  what 
has  become  of  all  the  squeaks  they  used  to 
put  in  boys'  shoes?  I  suppose  they  are  with 
the  dear  old  copper-toed,  red-top  boots.  It 
made  no  difference  how  hard  I  tried,  I 
never  caught  up  with  my  clothes. 

One  of  the  first  resolutions  I  formed 
was  to  use  the  first  money  I  could  get  to 
buy  me  a  suit  of  clothes  that  would  fit  my 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  21 

body  and  meet  the  requirements  of  my 
rather  exuberant  taste.  When  I  was  about 
fifteen  years  of  age  the  janitor  of  our  church 
gave  up  his  job,  and  I  secured  it.  The 
treasurer  of  the  church  was  in  the  clothing 
business.  I  was  in  luck.  He  was  to  keep 
the  money,  and  when  there  ;vas  sufficient 
to  my  credit  I  was  to  select  a  suit  of  clothes 
and  have  them  all  to  myself. 

Caesar  was  no  more  elated  over  crossing 
the  Rubicon  than  was  I  the  Saturday  night 
I  went  down  to  select  my  suit.  The  clerk 
that  sold  me  the  suit  earned  his  money.  I 
was  hard  to  satisfy,  but  by  bedtime  I  had 
all  selected  and  concealed  in  my  room.  I 
slept  about  as  well  that  night  as  a  boy 
usually  does  the  night  before  the  circus 
comes  to  town.  That  was  one  Sunday  morn- 
ing I  did  not  have  to  be  called.  I  was  up 
before  the  worm  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the 
early  bird.  When  I  got  into  my  clothes  and 
looked  in  the  mirror,  the  object  that  con- 
fronted me  was  as  gorgeous  as  a  peacock. 
Narcissus  was  no  more  pleased  with  his 
reflection  in  the  stream  than  I  with  mine  in 
the  mirror.  My  straw  hat  was  the  color 
of  a  ripe  strawberry.  My  coat  and  vest 
were  green,  and  my  pants  were  a  delicate 
cream.  My  head  swam  for  joy.  The  room 


22  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

was  too  small  for  my  glory,  so  I  went  out 
into  the  back  yard  to  practice  for  my  grand 
entrance  to  the  breakfast-table. 

Pride  comes  before  a  fall.  My  fall  was 
a  climb.  In  the  egotism  of  self-satisfaction 
I  had  forgotten  to  take  into  consideration 
our  old  family  dog.  Tige  and  I  had  been 
brought  up  together.  We  had  almost  eaten 
out  of  the  same  plate,  but  he  failed  to  recog- 
nize his  old  friend.  My  suit  was  too  much 
for  him,  and  he  treated  me  as  a  stranger. 
His  greeting,  while  strenuous,  was  not  cor- 
dial. I  soon  saw  he  was  in  no  humor  for 
argument,  and  I  was  forced  to  take  refuge 
on  top  of  the  flower-pit.  There  I  roosted 
until  his  continual  racket  woke  up  the 
family.  They  rescued  me.  When  they  got 
a  good  view  of  me  and  my  clothes,  Tige's 
remarks  seemed  simple  and  gentle  com- 
pared with  what  they  had  to  say.  My 
father's  oration  was  hardly  compatible  with 
a  Sabbath  morning  and  his  position  as  an 
elder  in  the  church. 

Tige's  real  name  was  Adah,  but,  because 
of  her  unladylike  behavior,  I  decided  to 
give  her  a  fictitious  name  in  order  to  pro- 
tect her  reputation. 

This  experience  with  my  first  selection 
of  a  suit  did  not  create  any  prejudice  in 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  23 

my  heart  against  clothes,  but  it  did  to  a  con- 
siderable degree  subdue  my  taste.  From 
that  day  I  ceased  to  be  so  tropical  in  the 
selection  of  my  clothes.  But  I  must  confess 
that  no  suit  has  ever  given  me  the  pleasure 
that  one  did  when  I  first  put  it  on. 


24  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 


II. 

CHILLS. 

Besides  spring  fever  and  falling  in  love, 
I  had  all  the  other  diseases  to  which  a  boy 
is  heir.  However,  as  well  as  I  now  recall, 
none  proved  fatal.  In  this  regard  I  was 
more  fortunate  than  a  painter  that  used  to 
live  in  my  town.  He  fought  in  the  Civil 
War  and  was  a  brave  soldier.  One  day 
some  one  asked  him  whether  or  not  he  was 
wounded  during  the  war.  "Yes,"  was  his 
reply,  "I  was  wounded  seven  times,  and  six 
of  them  was  fatal."  What  I  missed  in 
fatality  I  made  up  in  number  and  variety. 
However,  I  had  rather  have  divers  diseases 
than  fatal  ones.  They  are  more  easily 
cured.  If  I  should  catalogue  all  the  dis- 
eases I  had  when  I  was  a  boy,  it  would  read 
like  a  medical  dictionary  or  a  hospital  pro- 
gram on  a  parade.  At  one  time  it  seemed 
that  I  would  soon  exhaust  the  catalogue, 
and  no  doubt  I  would  have  done  so,  had 
not  a  large  number  of  new  diseases  been 
invented  or  imported.  By  the  way,  diseases 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  25 

are  the  only  thing  the  Republican  party  has 
never  put  a  tariff  on.  They  have  made  up 
for  this  oversight  by  putting  the  tariff  on 
medicine  and  coffins. 

My  hospitality  toward  all  the  ills  of  the 
flesh  was  so  noted  that  I  was  always  one  of 
first  to  entertain  any  disease  that  came  to 
town.  I  got  so  I  felt  slighted  and  lone- 
some if  there  was  not  something  the  matter 
with  me,  and  my  folks  would  think  that  if  I 
was  not  sick,  I  was  seriously  ill.  I  am  glad 
to  say  I  never  had  any  bones  broken.  How- 
ever, I  did  crack  my  voice  trying  to  lift  a 
tune,  and  I  frequently  strained  my  veracity 
handling  excuses  for  the  non-performance  of 
my  daily  chores.  The  nearest  I  ever  came 
to  going  into  the  show  business  was  when  a 
spell  of  colic  made  a  contortionist  out  of  me. 
My  mother  hardly  ever  locked  me  up  that  I 
did  not  break  out  with  something.  While  it 
is  true  that  I  had  the  habit  of  taking  every 
disease  that  came  along,  I  can  not  say  that 
I  enjoyed  any  of  them.  I  found  smallpox 
to  be  a  humorous  disease  without  being  the 
least  bit  funny. 

But  the  meanest  and  most  contemptible 
thing  I  had  when  I  was  a  boy  was  chills.  I 
have  no  respect  for  chills.  I  have  tried 
them  and  know  what  I  am  talking  about. 


26  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

Take  my  advice  and  have  nothing  to  do 
with  chills.  They  will  disappoint  you.  As 
soon  as  you  think  they  are  your  friend,  they 
will  shake  you.  They  are  the  earthquakes 
of  the  human  body,  and  will  shake  all  the 
sympathy  out  of  your  system.  They  will 
make  you  a  terror  to  the  beauty  doctors, 
and  dislocate  your  disposition.  They  stick 
to  you  like  poverty,  and  are  as  hard  and 
costly  to  get  rid  of.  Like  poverty,  they 
seem  to  descend  in  some  families  from  gen- 
eration to  generation.  They  won't  make 
you  any  more  friends  than  will  poverty,  and 
they  frequently  cause  you  to  shake  off  the 
friends  you  do  have. 

I  had  chills  for  several  years.  I  felt  a 
little  selfish  and  unappreciative  continually 
having  chills,  when  there  were  scores  of 
chill  tonics  advertised  by  the  people  who 
manufactured  them  as  being  sure  cures  for 
chills.  They  may  have  cured  chills  of  their 
troubles.  All  that  tackled  me  seemed  to  be 
healthful.  However,  they  never  cured  me  of 
chills.  I  do  not  know  what  they  put  in  the 
tonics,  but  I  am  satisfied  they  used  a  good 
deal  of  lie  in  the  printer's  ink  when  they 
advertised. 

The  most  radical  treatment  I  took  was 
a  liver-pad.  I  did  not  particularly  fancy  its 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  27 

odor,  still  it  did  not  enter  my  head  that  it 
would  be  serious.  The  minute  I  put  it  on 
I  began  to  lose  my  friends.  Even  the 
druggist  who  sold  it  to  me  seemed  anxious 
to  be  rid  of  me  before  other  customers  came 
into  his  store.  My  appearance  in  a  crowd 
always  meant  the  disappearance  of  the 
crowd.  No  one  knew  I  was  wearing  a 
liver-pad,  hence  everybody  looked  upon  me 
with  suspicion.  My  immediate  family,  of 
course,  knew  it,  but  they  never  took  me  to 
their  bosom  as  in  the  farmer  days,  and 
were  unanimous  in  their  opinion  that  I 
should  sleep  in  the  woodshed.  The  Board 
of  Health  looked  as  if  they  wanted  to 
quarantine  me,  and  the  undertaker  seemed 
to  think  I  had  cheated  him  out  of  a  job. 
Thinking  the  absent  treatment  would  be 
efficacious,  I  finally  threw  the  pad  away; 
but  for  a  long  time  I  found  the  words  of 
the  poet  to  be  true: 

You  may  air  all  your  clothes, 

And  bathe  as  you  will ; 
But  the  scent  of  the  liver-pad 

Clings  to  you  still. 


28  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 


III. 

SWIMMING. 

All  my  time,  however,  was  not  taken  up 
taking  down  medicine.  Like  most  normal 
boys,  I  hunted  and  fished,  played  ball  and 
hookey,  went  to  Sunday  school  and  the 
circus;  but  I  never  learned  to  swim — that 
is,  with  my  whole  body.  My  head  could 
always  swim.  Perhaps  I  am  the  only  boy 
that  ever  grew  up  in  Columbus  that  did  not 
learn  to  swim.  Most  of  them  naturally  took 
to  water,  but  not  to  soap.  The  mothers  of 
most  of  the  boys  I  knew  had  to  whip  them 
into  the  bath-tub,  and  whip  them  out  of  the 
swimming-hole. 

We  were  surrounded  by  swimming-holes. 
Blue  Rock,  just  above  the  county  bridge 
across  the  Tombigbee,  and  Gravel  Hole  and 
Sand  Hole,  a  little  farther  up  the  river, 
near  the  island,  and  the  one  near  the  fish- 
trap  in  Luxapalila  Creek,  were  the  most 
popular  when  I  was  a  boy.  Most  any  after- 
noon in  the  summer  they  were  like  glove- 
cases — full  of  undressed  kids. 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  29 

On  the  bluff  above  the  river  between 
Blue  Rock  and  Gravel  Hole  there  used  to 
be  an  artesian  well,  all  that  was  left  of  the 
old  Simon's  mill.  They  had  torn  the  old 
mill  down  before  my  time,  but  had  for- 
gotten or  failed  to  pull  up  the  well.  It 
was,  as  I  now  recall  it,  a  twelve-inch  pipe 
extending  about  thirty  inches  above  the 
ground,  with  a  hole  near  the  top  to  allow 
the  water  to  escape.  By  placing  your  hand 
over  the  hole  the  water  would  run  over  the 
top,  and  you  could  bury  your  face  in  the 
clear,  cold  water  and  drink.  How  good  that 
water  was,  only  a  thirsty  boy  with  his  face 
hot  and  flushed  from  the  race  for  the  first 
drink,  can  know.  It  used  to  refresh  me 
clear  down  to  the  stone  bruise  on  my  heel. 
How  like  the  old  well  are  the  springs  of 
kindness  that  refresh  our  bruised  hearts  and 
weary  souls  after  the  hard  knocks  and 
bumps  which  life  and  unappreciative  livers 
so  often  deal  us. 

On  both  sides  of  the  road  of  deep  sand 
over  which  we  had  to  go  to  reach  the  old 
fish-trap  there  grew  in  wild  profusion  a 
speary  cactus,  which  we  called  "prickly 
pear."  Those  of  us  who  were  not  too  old 
went  barefooted  and  always  kept  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  to  avoid  the  cactus. 


30  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

But,  in  order  to  have  fun,  some  of  the  older 
boys,  who  wore  shoes,  would  bury  cactus  in 
the  sand.  It  was  selfish  fun,  and  all  on  the 
side  of  the  fellow  with  shoes.  The  boy 
with  spears  from  the  cactus  in  his  feet 
never  joined  in  the  laugh. 

The  world  is  full  of  fellows  who  laugh 
and  live  on  the  hurt  of  others.  I  have 
always  enjoyed  fun,  and  I  love  to  laugh; 
but  I  never  enjoyed  fun  that  hurt  the  other 
fellows,  nor  found  it  opportune  to  laugh 
when  others  cried.  Life's  road  has  enough 
thorns  in  it  without  burying  more  to  wound 
the  feet  of  the  tired  pilgrim,  and  the  one 
who  laughs  along  the  way,  gathering  noth- 
ing but  flowers  of  pleasure,  will  find  thorns 
enough  without  my  scattering  any  more. 
There  is  sufficient  wholesome  fun  in  the 
world  for  us  to  get  our  share  without 
wringing  laughter  from  the  tears  of  others. 
Give  me  mirth  and  money  with  no  stain  of 
blood  from  another's  bruised  and  murdered 
joys  and  hopes. 

I  am  no  poet.  The  following  lines  make 
the  confession  superfluous.  However,  I 
offer  the  poem,  not  as  evidence  of  my  not 
being  a  poet,  but  to  show  what  Luxapalila 
Creek  seems  to  me  as  I  look  back  through 
the  years  that  lie  between  now  and  the  time 


A  RED-HEADED   MAN  31 

I  used  to  try  to  fish  and  swim  in  its  hos- 
pitable waters.  If  these  lines  do  not  tell 
the  truth  about  the  creek,  it  is  the  years 
that  lie  and  not  the  author. 

'Tis  sweet  to  stand  at  close  of  day 
And  watch  the  lights  and  shadows  play 
On  Lux'palila's  lovely  banks, 
Where  lilies  grow  in  fragrant  ranks, 
And  waters  eddy  'round  the  knees 
Of  shady,  silent  cypress-trees. 

On  every  side  sweet  jess'mine  dwells 
And  perfume  shakes  from  yellow  bells; 
With  crimson  wings  the  redbird  cleaves 
A  path  of  flame  through  the  willow  leaves, 
While  in  the  waters,  cool  and  deep, 
The  shadows  of  the  landscape  sleep. 

His  blazoned  armor  all  aglow, 
The  dragon-fly  flits  to  and  fro; 
The  swallows  skim  along  the  stream, 
Their  ebon  pinions  all  agleam 
With  drops  of  water,  jewels  rare, 
Quivering  in  the  golden  air. 

The  mocking-bird's  last  serenade 

Sounds  from  the  beech-tree's  cooling  shade, 

And  just  beyond  the  water-mill 

Is  heard  the  plaintive  whip-po'-will, 

While  close  beside  the  old  mill-race 

The  bullfrog  sounds  his  tuneful  bass. 

The  evening  shadows  softly  lie, 

A  holy  silence  from  the  sky, 

On  Lux'palila's  dark'ning  stream, 

And  the  rising  moon,  with  silver  gleam, 

Shoots  through  the  shadows,  soft  and  bright, 

Swift  arrows  from  her  bow  of  light. 


32  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

My  mother  was  a  most  peculiar  woman. 
She  would  never  obey  me,  but  insisted  on 
my  obeying  her.  Such  a  situation  would  be 
very  embarrassing  for  some  children  I 
know.  I  feel  sorry  for  parents  whose  chil- 
dren are  too  strict  with  them.  My  mother 
had  a  very  stubborn  disposition.  When  I 
went  barefooted,  notwithstanding  my  plea 
that  my  feet  would  get  just  as  dirty  the 
next  day,  she  made  me  wash  them  every 
night  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  when  I 
would  elude  her  vigilance  and  slip  into  bed 
with  my  feet  carefully  deposited  in  a  chair 
so  as  not  to  get  the  sheets  dirty,  she  would 
pull  me  out  and  make  me  wash  them.  I 
frequently,  in  my  sleepy  resentment,  wished 
I  did  not  have  feet,  but  I  got  some  comfort 
by  thinking  what  a  time  I  would  have  if  I 
were  a  centipede's  little  boy.  It  is  strange 
how  much  comfort  we  get  out  of  the  mis- 
fortunes of  others.  Somehow  mother  was 
never  afraid  of  me,  nor  was  she  too  up  to 
date  to  discard  that  old-fashioned  motto: 
Spare  the  slipper  and  spoil  the  boy.  Many 
a  boy  has  been  cured  of  what  might  have 
been  a  fatal  ailment  by  the  skillful  and 
opportune  application  of  a  slipper  poultice. 
A  slipper  is  often  a  boy's  best  friend.  I 
have  known  several  that  possessed  warm 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  33 

and  lively  souls,  and  personal  contact  with 
their  activities  has  left  its  impress.  Even 
after  I  was  big  enough  to  wear  suspenders 
and  take  personal  interest  in  keeping  my 
ears  clean,  my  mother  still  took  a  great 
deal  of  interest  in  me;  and  never  seemed 
satisfied  unless  she  knew  where  I  was  going 
and  where  I  would  be  when  I  got  there, 
and  had  some  idea  of  what  I  was  doing 
when  I  reached  where  I  was  going.  She 
would  not  often  let  me  go  where  I  was 
going  unless  she  knew  I  could  do  what  I 
was  going  to  do,  if  I  went  where  I  was 
going  to  go. 

The  above  is  one  reason  why  I  never 
learned  to  swim.  When  I  would  ask  her 
to  let  me  go  in  swimming  with  the  boys, 
she  would  ask  me  if  I  could  swim.  I  would 
answer  in  the  negative.  Then  she  would 
look  at  me,  and  while  her  hand  rested  upon 
the  sewing  she  was  doing  for  some  member 
of  the  family,  perhaps  a  jacket  for  me,  she 
would  say:  "No,  you  can't  go  this  time. 
Wait  till  you  learn  how  to  swim."  With 
rebellious  heart  I  would  go  out  into  the 
front  yard  to  wait  for  the  boys  to  come  by 
on  their  way  to  the  fish-trap.  Soon  they 
would  come  trooping  by.  What  a  merry 
crowd  they  were  and  how  lustily  they  would 


34  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

yell,  "Come  on,  Peckerwood,  let's  go  in 
swimming."  But  I  would  choke  back  my 
tears,  and  with  a  brave  voice  say,  "Nope." 
"Why?"  would  come  the  response,  as  a 
crowd  of  insinuating  eyes  and  sarcastic 
smiles  would  show  through  the  palings  of 
the  fence.  "Because  I  don't  wan'ter,"  would 
be  the  reply,  all  the  time  the  desire  in  my 
heart  branding  as  false  the  words  on  my 
lips.  With  a  laugh  and  a  shout  they  would 
rush  on  their  way,  flinging  back  at  me  as 
they  ran,  "You  can't;  you  are  tied  to  your 
mammy's  apron-strings,  that's  why."  When 
they  were  gone  I  would  throw  myself  down, 
dig  my  toes  in  the  dirt,  beat  the  earth  with 
my  fists,  and  in  my  bitter  disappointment 
and  misunderstanding  cry  out  against  the 
tyranny  of  my  mother,  and  try  to  break  the 
apron-strings.  There  was  treason  in  my 
heart  against  the  best  friend  and  the  wisest 
counselor  a  boy  ever  had — my  mother. 
Anarchy  reigned  and  bade  me  overthrow 
the  government  of  my  queen,  untie  or  break 
the  apron-strings  and  disobey  her  laws.  But 
her  loving  fingers  had  tied  the  strings 
around  my  heart  with  a  love-knot,  and  the 
harder  I  tried  to  untie  them  the  tighter  they 
tied.  These  strings  were  always  long 
enough  to  let  me  go  where  there  was  good, 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  35 

clean,  wholesome  fun,  and  no  boy  ever  had 
a  happier  childhood;  but  they  were  too 
short  to  allow  me  to  go  where  she  thought 
there  was  any  physical  or  moral  danger.  I 
now  know  she  knew  best  what  was  good 
for  her  boy.  Her  laws  were  born  in  love 
and  executed  with  an  eye  single  to  the  wel- 
fare of  her  children.  If  she  made  mistakes, 
they  were  mistakes  of  overcautious  love. 

Those  apron-strings  belonged  to  the 
apron  she  wore  when  she  toiled  to  make 
my  childhood  happy  and  my  manhood 
worthy.  I  have  seen  them  in  the  kitchen, 
I  have  seen  them  when  fever  burnt  my  little 
body,  and  when  I  was  tired  and  she  took 
me  in  her  lap  I  could  feel  the  apron-strings 
as  my  arms  went  around  her  waist.  Yes,  I 
was  tied  to  my  mother's  apron-strings.  I 
was  sometimes  ashamed  of  it  when  I  was 
a  boy,  but  I  am  proud  of  it  now.  When  I 
left  home  to  make  my  own  way  in  the  world 
I  could  always  feel  the  tug  of  my  mother's 
apron-strings,  pulling  and  keeping  me  tied 
to  home  and  its  helpful  influences,  and  as 
long  as  they  pulled  I  could  never  get  far 
from  that  which  is  pure  and  sweet  and  good 
in  life. 

Mother  used  to  meet  me  at  the  gate 
when  I  went  home.  But  when  sickness  laid 


36  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

a  heavy  hand  upon  her  and  took  her 
strength,  she  first  met  me  at  the  door,  but 
later  on  she  waited  for  me  in  her  big  arm- 
chair. The  last  time  I  went  to  see  her  she 
had  gone  home  before  I  could  reach  her, 
and  her  body  waited  in  the  casket  beneath 
the  flowers.  The  apron-strings  still  tie  me 
to  her  just  as  tight  and  strong  as  when  I 
was  a  little  boy,  but  they  do  not  hurt  me 
now.  God  pity  the  child  whose  mother  has 
no  apron-strings,  or  who,  if  she  has  them, 
has  failed  to  tie  them  hard  and  fast  about 
the  hearts  of  her  children. 

The  world  is  fast ;  I'm  weary  of  its  pace, 

And  long  to  see  my  darling  mother's  face. 

A  picture  of  that  face,  most  wonderfully  fair, 

Is  hanging  in  my  heart  in  its  frame  of  silver  hair. 

That  face  that  used  to  bend  so  gently  o'er  my  bed, 
And  soothe  with  mother-patience  my  little  aching  head. 
How  often  when  a  child  I  have  dreamed  and  waked 

with  fear, 
But  I  found  the  loving  face  of  my  precious  mother  near. 

And  when  through  sore  temptations  I  have  wandered 

in  the  night, 

That  face  has  been  a  beacon  to  lead  me  back  to  light. 
And   since   like   gay-winged   birds   my  childhood   days 

have  flown, 
With  Jacob  I  have  often  laid  my  head  upon  a  stone. 

And  when  soft-fingered  Sleep  has  closed  my  tired  eyes, 
God  dropped  his  golden  ladder  down  through  the  dark- 
ened skies, 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  37 

And  angels  soft  descending  with  outstretched  wings  of 

white 
Would  change  to  glorious  day-songs  my  sorrows  of  the 

night. 

Then  my  heart  would  fill  with  joy  as  I  listened  to  their 

song- 
May  God  forgive  the  error,  if  what  I  say  is  wrong^- 
But  among  that  band  of  angels  there  were  none  that 

could  compare 
With  the  face  of  dear  old  mother  and  her  crown  of 

silver  hair. 

Yes,  mother,  I  am  weary  of  the  world  and  all  its  show ; 
Come  now  and  sit  beside  me  as  you  used  to  long  ago; 
Place  close  upon  my  cheek,  with  its  marks  of  worldly 

care, 
Your   face  with  all  its  wrinkles  and  your  wealth  of 

silver  hair. 


38  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 


IV. 
RED  HAIR. 

As  these  are  the  recollections  of  a  red- 
headed man,  I  think  it  proper  that  some- 
thing should  be  said  about  hair  in  general 
and  red  hair  in  particular.  Without  hair, 
history  would  indeed  be  a  bald  subject. 
Hair  and  civilization  are  very  closely  rela- 
ted, as  much  so  as  clothing  and  civilization: 
for  they  both  perform  the  same  office,  and 
desire  for  either  is  a  proper  indication  of  a 
rise  in  the  scale  of  being.  Just  as  Samson 
lost  his  strength  with  the  loss  of  his  hair, 
will  civilization  cease  with  the  passing  of 
hair.  Blessings  and  honor  have  been  heaped 
upon  the  man  who  makes  two  blades  of 
grass  grow  where  once  only  one  grew; 
but  immeasurable  wealth  and  untold  honors 
await  the  man  who  can  produce  a  hair-re- 
storer that  will  restore  hair  that  has  with- 
drawn from  view,  or  that  will  induce  a  new 
growth  to  appear.  Color  will  not  be  con- 
sideration. It  is  hair  that  is  wanted. 

A  learned  writer  says:  "The  Argonautic 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  39 

Expedition  (1263  B.  C.)  forms  a  sort  of 
separation  point  between  the  fabulous  and 
the  authentic."  This  is  as  much  as  to  say 
that  Grecian  civilization  had  its  birth  about 
the  time  search  was  made  for  the  "Golden 
Fleece."  Many  attempts  have  been  made 
to  explain  this  beautiful  myth.  Some  think 
it  had  reference  to  the  raw  silk  of  the  East; 
others,  that  it  refers  to  the  custom  of  col- 
lecting the  gold  that  washed  down  from  the 
side  of  the  mountains  by  placing  sheepskins 
in  the  beds  of  the  streams;  and  still  others, 
to  the  beautiful  sunlight.  My  own  opinion 
is  that  "Golden  Fleece"  refers  to  red  hair. 
We  all  know  that  raw  silk,  fine  gold  and 
sunlight  are  beautiful  and  poetic  expressions 
often  used  when  referring  to  red  hair.  I 
think  the  myth  had  its  foundation  in  the 
following  version  of  the  story,  which  I  offer 
as  my  contribution  to  "subjective  history." 
Pelias  was  a  bald-headed  old  king,  who 
in  his  later  days  became  somewhat  civilized. 
He  then  became  ashamed  of  the  nude  con- 
dition of  his  head.  He  objected  to  wearing 
his  hair  after  the  style  of  the  split  skirt,  and 
longed  for  a  wig.  Red  hair  being  then,  as 
now,  the  most  beautiful  and  suitable  for 
civilized  man,  he  attempted  to  scalp  Jason, 
who  was  possessed  of  an  abundant  crop  of 


40  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

"Golden  Fleece."  Like  all  red-headed  men, 
Jason  was  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  He 
slew  Pelias,  and  from  that  day  to  this  the 
baldheads  have  had  it  in  for  the  redheads. 

In  beginning  these  recollections  I  said  it 
was  good  to  be  born.  I  now  add  that  it 
is  better  to  be  well  born,  and  better  still  to 
be  born  red-headed.  I  speak  from  personal 
experience;  for  I  was  born  red-headed,  and 
have  never  gotten  over  it.  Unlike  a  bald- 
headed  man,  I  have  held  my  own.  Being 
a  birthday  present,  I  have  never  desired  to 
get  rid  of  it,  and  on  account  of  its  color  it 
has  been  of  considerable  use  to  me.  Red- 
headed men,  like  poets,  are  born,  not  made. 
This  can  not  be  truthfully  said  of  all  red- 
headed women.  Most  red-headed  men  get 
their  red  hair  from  some  ancestor,  but  a 
great  many  women  get  theirs  from  some 
drugstore  or  hair-house.  They  may  say  it 
is  false.  I  agree  with  them. 

For  some  reason,  men  are  prejudiced 
against  red  hair,  and  some  go  so  far  as  to 
say  they  had  rather  be  bald-headed  than 
red-headed.  They  should  be  patient  and 
give  nature  a  chance  to  do  her  complete 
work.  They  have  their  rathers,  and  if  they 
will  only  possess  themselves  with  patience, 
the  baldness  will  soon  work  through  and 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  41 

show   on   the    outside.      Good   heads,    like 
good  books,  ought  to  be  red. 

In  the  color  of  my  hair  I  am  strenuous. 
The  fact  is,  if  to  be  red-headed  is  a  sin,  I 
am  afraid  I  have  committed  an  unpardon- 
able one.  But  if  red  hair  is  a  sin,  I  am  not 
to  be  held  responsible;  for  it  would  be  a 
case  of  being  born  in  sin,  a  matter  of  hair- 
edity.  When  I  was  a  child  an  artist  wanted 
me  to  sit  as  model  for  an  angel.  My  pretty 
face  and  long  red  curls  were  angelic,  but 
pay,  persuasion  nor  punishment  could  make 
an  angel  of  me,  not  even  a  model  for  a  pic- 
ture angel.  I  doubt  if  there  be  any  red- 
haired  angels  outside  the  realm  of  art.  I 
am  glad  I  have  red  hair,  and  plenty  of  it. 
I  am  glad  it  is  genuine  red.  I  never  liked 
faded  hair,  nor  a  head  with  a  big  cleared 
place  on  top  and  just  a  fringe  of  red  hair 
around  the  outer  edge  of  the  clearing.  One 
looks  as  if  he  tried  and  couldn't,  and  the 
other,  that  he  couldn't,  if  he  tried.  I 
heard  of  a  bald-headed  man,  a  good  many 
years  ago,  who  had  a  little  hair  just  above 
each  ear.  He  was  riding  on  the  train,  and 
behind  him  was  a  man  from  the  great  State 
of  Texas.  Every  few  minutes  the  bald- 
headed  man  would  reach  up  and  scratch 
first  above  one  ear,  then  above  the  other. 


42  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

This  performance  made  the  Texan  nervous. 
Finally  he  reached  the  end  of  his  endurance, 
and,  reaching  over,  touched  the  bald- 
headed  man  on  the  shoulder  and  said:  "See 
here,  pardner,  if  you  will  drive  them  up  in 
the  clearing,  I  will  help  you  kill  them."  I 
do  not  tell  this  story  because  it  is  new  or 
original,  but  because  it  comes  under  this 
head. 

I  like  red  hair,  but  I  draw  the  line  on 
red  whiskers.  When  I  was  a  very  little 
boy  I  used  to  say  when  I  grew  up  I  wanted 
to  be  a  great  big  man  and  have  whiskers 
that  would  drag  the  ground.  However,  that 
was  before  I  knew  that  my  whiskers  would 
have  to  be  the  same  color  as  my  hair,  and 
long  before  I  had  any  full  realization  of 
color  values,  and  before  I  had  personally 
felt  the  prejudice  of  others  against  red  hair. 
The  full  force  of  what  I  would  look  like 
with  red  whiskers  came  to  me  one  day  when 
I  saw  a  man  from  the  country  with  a  shock 
of  red  hair  and  whiskers  to  match.  It  was 
a  hairassing  sight.  The  whiskers  began  at 
one  ear  and  ran  their  fiery  course  clear 
around  to  the  other.  He  was  riding  a  tan- 
colored  mule,  and  looked  like  the  sun, 
mounted  and  ready  for  his  diurnal  race 
across  the  skies.  It  was  the  smashing  of 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  43 

one  of  my  childhood  ambitions.  Then  and 
there  I  determined  never  to  have  whiskers, 
and  have  escaped  only  by  a  close  shave. 

I  have  been  frequently  asked,  "What 
makes  your  hair  so  red?"  My  usual  answer 
is,  "Blushing  at  the  fool  questions  asked 
me."  This  answer  may  not  be  scientific, 
but  it  is  simple  and  very  satisfactory  to  me. 
Sometimes  I  say:  "My  dear  sir,  the  color 
of  my  hair  is  perfectly  natural  to  the  hair 
itself.  From  the  day  of  my  birth  to  the 
present  there  has  not  been  an  infinitesimal 
deviation  in  the  shade  of  a  single  hair  from 
the  standard  of  redness.  I  conclude,  there- 
fore, that  it  is,  as  I  have  said,  naturally 
red.  From  my  study  of  hairological  chro- 
matics I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
this  natural  condition  of  color  is  caused  by 
the  pigmentary  contents  of  the  cellular  tis- 
sue of  the  hair  follicle.  This  follicle  is,  as 
you  know,  a  bulbous  depression  in  the  cutis. 
In  my  case  this  colorific  oil  is  blood  red." 
However,  this  nearly  always  brings  on  an 
argument,  and  the  world  knows  that  red- 
headed people  are  constitutionally  opposed 
to  any  sort  of  controversy.  To  be  perfectly 
frank,  I  do  not  know  just  what  makes  it  so 
red.  The  first  time  I  ever  saw  it  it  was 
just  as  red  as  it  is  now.  Red  hair  seemed 


44  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

to  run  in  our  family.  At  least,  it  did  when 
any  member  of  the  family  got  after  me. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  if  it  did  run,  it  was 
fast.  Color  is  caused  by  the  vibration  of 
ether.  The  longest  and  slowest  vibrations 
make  red.  It  may  be  that  some  heads  are 
so  superior  to  others  that  light  lingers 
longer  about  them  and  strokes  them  with 
long  and  tender  touches  as  if  loth  to  leave. 
Candidly,  the  best  explanation  I  can  give 
for  my  red  hair  is  that  one  of  my  ances- 
tors had  scarlet  fever  and  it  settled  in  my 
hair. 

The  man  who  is  so  unfortunate  as  to 
have  any  other  hair  than  red  has  one  advan- 
tage, he  can  mix  and  mingle  with  multitudes 
and  scarcely  be  noticed,  but  red  hair  attracts 
immediate  attention  wheresoever  it  may  go. 
It  is  prominent  among  a  few  and  can  not  be 
lost  in  a  host.  It  is  impossible  for  a  red- 
headed man  to  pass  through  this  world 
without  having  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  all 
the  eyes  and  tongues  in  the  neighborhood. 
He  is  like  a  red  flag  in  a  pasture  full  of 
bulls.  From  my  youth  up  I  have  been  a 
target  at  which  every  archer  seemed  to 
think  himself  predestined  and  foreordained 
to  shoot.  Few  of  them  have  ever  run  the 
risk  of  falling  from  grace.  So,  do  not 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  45 

blame  a  red-headed  man  for  being  a  porcu- 
pine. His  quills  are  the  arrows  which  have 
been  shot  into  him.  These  arrows  reach 
the  quick  in  thin-skinned  people,  and  they 
are  always  sore  and  sensitive.  I  have  been 
through  it  all.  For  a  long  time  such  things 
raised  my  temperature  to  that  of  a  pepper- 
box. When  I  first  entered  school  I  felt  it  a 
matter  of  duty  to  at  least  try  to  lick  any  and 
every  one  who  had  anything  to  say  regard- 
ing the  color  of  my  hair.  I  made  many 
manly  efforts.  Such  tactics,  however,  were 
not  pursued  by  me  to  the  end  of  my  first 
school  year.  I  was  in  the  repair-shop  too 
often  to  make  it  profitable,  and  I  got  licked 
with  such  Russian  regularity  that  I  was 
neither  a  comfort  to  myself  nor  an  honor 
to  my  family.  A  strange  thing  happened 
in  one  of  my  encounters.  I  went  into  the 
fight  with  two  blue  eyes  and  came  out  with 
two  black  ones.  I  never  had  a  very  long 
nor  prominent  nose,  but  it  was  exceedingly 
pugnacious.  When  I  got  into  a  difficulty  I 
could  not  restrain  it  from  jamming  itself 
against  my  adversary's  fist.  It  did  not  hurt 
the  fist,  and  to  protect  my  nose  I  decided  to 
trust  no  longer  to  brawn,  but  to  brains.  I 
soon  learned  to  smile  when  an  arrow  hit 
me,  pull  it  out,  increase  it  to  a  harpoon,  and 


46  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

let  the  sender  have  it  back.     I  always  select- 
ed a  vital  spot. 

One  of  the  earliest  recollections  of  my 
childhood  is  of  a  man  saying  to  me,  "Sonny, 
run  home  and  tell  your  pa  he  can  cut  down 
his  grocery  bill  by  putting  you  on  a  stump 
and  letting  the  peckerwoods  feed  you."  If 
his  statements  were  true,  red  hair  might 
solve  the  problem  of  the  high  cost  of  living. 
I  did  not  run  home,  but  I  did  then  and  there 
hope  he  would  not  die  until  I  grew  up  and 
was  big  enough  to  whip  him.  In  strange 
places  and  among  people  I  had  never  seen 
before  I  have  been  embarrassed  by  hearing 
on  all  sides  from  certain  fellows  such  ex- 
pressions as  these:  "My!  look  at  that 
head."  "Behold  the  king  of  the  pecker- 
woods."  "Did  you  say  'fire'?"  "Send  in  the 
alarm."  If  a  healthy,  robust  idea  should 
by  accident  stray  into  the  head  of  one  such 
fellow  as  these,  it  would  die  of  the  blues 
from  sheer  loneliness  and  lack  of  exercise. 
How  do  you  think  you  would  feel  if  some 
fellow  pretended  to  use  your  head  as  a 
cigar-lighter?  When  I  have  attended  church 
I  have  had  those  by  whom  I  took  my  seat 
complain  of  the  sudden  rise  of  tempera- 
ture, and  they  would,  with  much  smiling  at 
their  originality,  begin  to  fan  themselves 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  47 

most  vigorously.  I  took  my  sweetheart  to 
church  one  night,  and  two  of  my  rivals  sat 
down  just  behind  me,  and  opened  up  a 
blacksmith-shop,  using  my  head  for  the 
forge. 

One  day  before  I  was  old  enough  to 
vote,  I  went  to  Natchez,  Mississippi.  On 
my  way  uptown  from  the  depot  I  passed  by 
a  dealer  in  second-hand  humor.  There  are 
a  host  of  such  dealers  in  the  world.  This 
one  was  of  that  age  when  the  sap  begins  to 
flow  through  the  head,  and  is  often  mis- 
taken for  mental  activity.  His  sign  was  a 
chestnut  with  a  worm  rampant.  As  I  was 
peaceably  passing  by,  this  excavator  of 
"Prehistoric"  wit  called  out,  "Where  is  the 
white  horse?"  Quickly  turning,  I  replied, 
"I  am  a  stranger  in  your  city  and  do  not 
know  where  the  white  horse  is,  but  if  I 
were  looking  for  a  jackass,  and  had  a  hal- 
ter, I  would  put  it  on  you,  provided  I  could 
get  it  over  your  ears."  Untrue  to  his  kind, 
he  did  not  kick. 

Some  time  after  this  I  was  in  Little 
Rock,  Arkansas.  The  next  morning  after 
my  arrival  I  was  arrested.  The  only  charge 
against  me  was  that  I  was  red-headed.  I 
came  very  nearly  forsaking  my  colors  and 
making  a  run  for  safety.  I  was  so  humil- 


48  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

iated  and  despondent  that  I  was  on  the 
verge  of  dyeing,  or,  worse  still,  trading  hair 
with  a  bald-headed  man.  They  arrested 
me  on  account  of  my  head.  It  seems  that 
a  fellow  in  another  part  of  the  State  had 
been  up  to  some  meanness  and  skipped  out. 
The  only  thing  they  had  by  which  to  iden- 
tify him  was  his  hair.  It  was  red.  They 
telegraphed  it  all  over  the  State.  The 
news,  not  the  hair.  Every  time  a  stranger 
who  happened  to  have  red  hair  took  off  his 
hat  in  an  Arkansas  town  the  police  depart- 
ment got  busy.  It  looked  every  day  as  if 
they  were  having  a  torchlight  procession. 

While  in  Little  Rock  I  attended  the 
theater  one  night.  My  seat  was  in  the  front 
row  on  the  first  floor,  counting  from  the 
ceiling.  As  soon  as  the  curtain  went  up,  a 
lady  came  out  before  the  footlights,  looked 
in  my  direction,  and  went  into  ecstasies, 
dramatically  exclaiming:  "The  moon,  the 
moon,  oh,  the  beautiful  moon!"  In  the 
midst  of  her  rhapsody  a  gentleman  of  such 
flannel-mouthed  Irish  variety  that  a  drink 
of  water  would  have  made  him  shrink, 
rushed  upon  the  stage  and  called  out  so  that 
everybody  in  the  house  could  hear  him: 
"Hush  up,  you  fool!  That's  no  moon; 
that's  a  red-headed  man  in  the  loft." 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  49 

On  a  number  of  occasions  the  color  of 
my  hair  has  been  of  peculiar  benefit  to  me. 
What  success  I  have  attained,  what  things 
I  have  accomplished,  and  what  heights  I 
have  climbed,  have  resulted  from  the  color 
of  my  head.  My  hair  has  just  naturally 
headed  me  that  way.  Samson's  strength 
was  in  the  length  of  his  hair,  but  mine  is  in 
the  color.  While  in  the  university  I  was 
asked  to  speak  at  a  Bryan  rally.  It  was 
the  night  before  the  election  of  1896.  The 
hour  was  12  P.  M.  I  claim,  therefore,  to 
have  made  the  last  speech  of  that  remark- 
able campaign.  My  youthful  appearance, 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  the  further 
fact  that  I  was  introduced  as  a  student  of 
the  university  located  in  that  city,  caused  an 
immediate  stampede  for  the  door.  Only  a 
minority  got  up  to  leave,  however,  as  the 
majority  had  been  put  to  sleep  by  the  pre- 
vious speakers.  Before  they  reached  the 
door  I  called  out:  "Fellow-citizens,  hear  my 
explanation.  From  the  color  of  my  head 
you  think  I  am  a  'Gold  Bug,'  but  I  am  not. 
My  head  may  appear  like  unto  gold,  but  it 
bears  false  witness  as  to  my  heart.  Don't 
blame  my  head;  it  was  born  that  way,  and 
I  can't  change  it  unless  I  dye."  This  halted 
them,  and  they  took  their  seats.  I  must 


50  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

have  made  a  good  speech,  for  the  next 
morning  when  I  went  to  the  polls  to  cast 
my  vote,  a  fellow,  who  approached  me  as 
if  he  were  laying  a  snake  rail  fence,  and 
whose  breath  smelt  like  a  distillery  running 
overtime,  took  me  by  the  hand  and  said: 
"Shake,  pardner;  I'm  drunk,  but  you  are  a 

of  an  orator.  You  can  have  my  vote 

for  Congress."  Poor  fellow!  When  I 
looked  at  his  dirty,  disheveled  hair  and 
soiled  clothes,  I  decided  not  to  make  the 
race  for  Congress  with  him  as  my  sponsor, 
and  as  no  one  else  has  ever  offered  to  vote 
for  me,  I  have  never  made  the  race,  and  my 
seat  in  that  august  body  is  occupied  by  some 
other  millionaire,  whitewashed  object,  polit- 
ical accident,  or  patriot. 

On  the  4th  of  July,  1899,  I  delivered  a 
patriotic  address  in  Mississippi  to  an  audi- 
ence of  several  thousand.  Many  of  them 
had  small  flags  pinned  to  their  waists  and 
coats  to  indicate  their  patriotism.  I  told 
them  I  needed  no  flag  to  show  my  patriot- 
ism, for  I  was  the  flag  incarnate.  "Yes," 
said  I,  "I  am  a  white  man,  the  blood  in  my 
veins  is  blue,  and  my  head  would  make  the 
reddest  stripe  on  the  flag  cry,  'Hold, 
enough !'  ' 

In  my  public  speeches  I  have  often  se- 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  51 

cured  the  immediate  attention  of  my  audi- 
ence by  some  reference  to  the  color  of  my 
hair.  I  was  always  ready  with  it.  A  lady 
who  had  heard  me  on  several  occasions  re- 
marked that  one  objection  to  me  was  that 
I  never  made  a  speech  without  bringing  in 
my  head.  I  plead  guilty,  but  immediately 
exonerated  her  head  from  having  anything 
to  do  with  her  tongue.  She  is  not  lonesome. 
Scores  of  heads,  if  arrested  with  the  tongue 
and  charged  with  particeps  criminis,  would 
have  no  trouble  in  proving  an  alibi.  In  the 
firm  of  Head  &  Tongue,  Head  is  too  often 
the  silent  partner.  Though  my  tongue 
stays  out  a  good  deal,  and  is  generally 
pretty  busy,  I  nearly  always  send  my  head 
along  as  chaperone.  It  is  my  deliberate 
opinion  that  many  a  man's  tongue  has  gone 
to  our  State  Legislature,  and  even  to  Con- 
gress, and  his  head  never  heard  of  the 
election.  I  am  also  fully  persuaded  that  a 
goodly  number  of  preachers  have  never 
understood  that  their  call  was  not  to  their 
tongue  alone,  but  also  to  the  head  and 
heart.  Too  many  people  work  overtime 
with  the  tongue  and  let  the  head  overdo 
the  vacation  business.  I  have  often  been 
struck  with  the  strange  phenomenon  of  the 
head  being  sound  asleep  and  the  tongue 


52  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

suffering  with  an  almost  incurable  case  of 
insomnia.  "What  God  has  joined  together, 
let  no  man  put  asunder,"  is  wholesome 
doctrine  and  "very  full  of  comfort." 

I  am  a  Shriner.  I  was  born  with  a  fez, 
and  have  only  to  tie  on  the  black  tassle.  I 
wish  to  apologize  to  any  bald-headed  reader 
who  feels  hurt  because  I  prefer  red  hair  to 
no  hair  at  all.  I  admit  that  a  bald  head 
is  better  than  no  head.  In  fact,  they  have 
many  advantages.  Barbers  can  cut  their 
hair  with  sandpaper  instead  of  scissors,  and 
they  furnish  excellent  pasturage  for  flies 
in  the  good  old  summer-time.  For  orna- 
mental purposes  they  are  without  equal  for 
front-seat  decoration  at  vaudevilles.  We 
should  discredit  most  jokes  about  bald 
heads.  As  a  general  thing,  there  is  nothing 
in  them.  If  a  man  wishes  to  wear  his  hair 
decollete,  that  is  his  business,  not  mine. 
However,  I  am  too  modest  to  wear  mine 
cut  as  low  as  some  I  have  seen.  Ingrowing 
hair  may  not  be  as  painful  as  ingrowing 
nails,  but  it  is  more  observable  to  the 
general  public. 


A   RED-HEADED    MAN  53 


V. 
CALLED  TO  PREACH. 

From  red  hair  to  real  religion  is  no 
very  long  jump.  However,  until  I  turned 
the  tide  of  public  opinion  it  was  generally 
believed  that  red  hair  tended  more  toward 
perverseness  than  preaching.  This  slander- 
ous suspicion  still  lingers  in  the  heads  of  a 
large  number  of  well-meaning  but  deluded 
people.  They  still  believe  that  red  hair 
and  high  temper  are  twins.  I  have  seen 
men  who  wore  wigs,  and  women  who  wore 
rats,  with  more  temper  than  possessed  by 
the  fellow  who,  if  evolution  be  true,  might 
have  descended  from  a  flamingo.  If  I 
could  remove  the  above-mentioned  suspicion 
from  the  heads  of  the  aforesaid  people 
without  cracking  their  skulls,  I  could  dem- 
onstrate to  the  scientist  that  such  a  thing  as 
a  vacuum  does  exist  in  nature,  provided  the 
people  who  hold  such  opinion  are  a  part  of 
nature.  There  is  another  class  holding  the 
same  view,  but  as  they  at  times  show  some 
signs  of  intelligence  I  do  not  think  they  are 


54  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

hopelessly  lost  to  further  enlightenment. 
At  the  risk  of  doing  violence  to  their  cha- 
otic gray  matter,  I  am  going  to  attempt  the 
enlargement  of  their  information. 

Not  many  red-haired  people  are  found 
in  our  asylums  and  penitentiaries,  and  only 
a  few  dye.  They  do  not  feel  lonesome 
among  statesmen,  patriots,  philanthropists, 
politicians,  preachers,  and  professional  base- 
ball players.  Among  the  most  noted  war- 
riors they  are  found  to  be  the  bravest  of 
the  brave;  and  among  runners,  the  swiftest 
of  the  swift.  If  all  the  great  men  and  beau- 
tiful women  of  the  past  and  present  should 
remove  their  hats  at  the  same  time,  there 
would  be  a  blaze  of  glory  all  along  the 
line.  It  would  be  a  torchlight  procession 
from  Eden  to  the  author  of  these  recollec- 
tions. The  biography  of  the  red-headed 
men  and  women  of  the  past  could  well  be 
called  "Beacon-lights  of  History." 

However,  that  I  may  do  no  violence  to 
history,  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  those 
who  knew  me  best  when  I  was  a  boy 
thought  me  too  full  of  mischief  to  ever  be 
a  missionary.  But  you  can  never  tell  how 
good  looking  a  boy  is  by  counting  his 
freckles.  My  father  was  an  elder  of  the 
church,  and  when  we  had  no  preacher  he 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  55 

would  do  the  preaching.  He  always  stood 
on  the  floor  just  in  front  of  the  pulpit. 
When  he  did,  the  future  preacher  in  me 
would  get  the  upper  hand  of  my  fear  and 
caution,  and  I  would  slip  away  from  mother 
and  climb  up  into  the  pulpit.  Standing  where 
he  could  not  see  me,  I  would  imitate  his 
every  movement,  much  to  the  delight  of  the 
young  people  and  the  mortification  of  my 
family.  An  old  maid,  who  used  to  sit  near 
the  front,  never  failed  to  express  her  desire 
to  kill  me.  I  am  extremely  thankful  that 
she  failed  to  carry  out  her  desire;  for,  if 
she  had,  it  would  have  humiliated  me  at 
the  time,  and  mortified  me  to  this  good 
day.  After  services,  and  we  were  at  home, 
my  father  violated  the  "Sabbath"  by  run- 
ning a  tannery.  I  helped  him.  I  would 
hold  him  in  his  chair  and  furnish  the  hide 
while  he  did  the  tanning. 

When  I  was  about  fourteen  years  of  age 
it  was  decided  to  have  the  young  men  and 
boys  of  our  church  lead  the  prayer-meetings. 
I  accidentally  overheard  some  of  the  sisters 
discussing  the  new  plan.  Among  them  was 
the  before-mentioned  old  maid.  They  said: 
"John  [he  is  my  brother,  and  a  few  years 
older  than  I]  will  lead,  but  as  for  that  Ira 
— don't  mention  it."  Right  then  I  deter- 


56  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

mined  to  fool  them.  The  night  John  was 
to  lead  he  could  not  be  found  anywhere. 
The  next  Wednesday  night  was  my  time  to 
lead.  Without  John's  knowledge,  I  bor- 
rowed his  best  tie  and  tallest  collar.  For 
many  days  I  studied  my  subject.  When  the 
night  arrived  I  timed  my  arrival  at  church 
so  as  to  have  the  crowd  a  little  uneasy 
and  give  the  know-it-alls  a  chance  to  say,  "I 
told  you  so."  Upon  my  arrival,  with  my 
Bible  under  my  arm,  I  marched  down  the 
aisle,  took  my  seat  and  called  for  a  song. 
I  then  turned  to  my  father  and  said: 
"Brother  Boswell,  lead  us  in  prayer."  The 
old  maid  like  to  have  fainted.  She  would 
have,  but  her  curiosity  kept  her  from  it. 
The  prayer-meeting  was  a  success,  and  as 
soon  as  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  the 
good  sisters  rushed  up  to  me  and  said:  "Oh, 
Ira,  you  must  lead  lots  of  times."  Stretch- 
ing myself  to  my  full  limit,  and  assuming 
all  the  dignity  possible,  I  replied:  "Not  on 
your  life.  Get  John;  I  heard  what  you 
said." 

My  mother's  heart  was  set  on  my  being 
a  preacher,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  hazy 
idea  in  my  own  mind  that  I  might  enter  the 
ministry  some  day.  Fortunately,  when  I 
moved  to  Memphis  they  put  me  to  work  in 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  57 

the  church.  If  there  is  any  preacher  in  a 
boy,  church  work  will  bring  it  out.  I  never 
met  a  finer  set  of  young  people  than  were 
in  the  Linden  Street  Christian  Church. 
Church  work  was  a  pleasure.  What  de- 
lightful days  those  were.  The  memory  of 
them  is  like  the  rich,  sweet  music  of  chimes 
that  keep  the  air  tremulous  with  melody 
long  after  the  bells  are  stilled.  During 
those  delightful  days  it  was  pressed  in  upon 
me  that  I  should  devote  my  life  to  my  fel- 
low-man, doing  the  work  my  Elder  Brother 
left  for  me  to  do.  In  other  words,  I  felt 
my  call  to  preach.  It  was  not  a  call  like 
Brogan  had.  Brogan  was  full  of  the  ego- 
tism of  ignorance,  which  he  mistook  for 
sanctification.  He  thought  he  was  an  ex- 
horter,  but  he  was  an  exhauster.  One  night 
he  gave  the  following  account  of  his  call: 
"I  was  a  bad  man,  brethren  and  sisters — a 
gambler  and  a  drunkard.  For  twenty-five 
years  the  Lord  chased  me,  trying  to  get  me 
to  preach.  But  I  would  not  do  it.  At  last 
he  got  me  in  a  corner  and  I  had  to  preach 
or  kill  myself.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  kill 
myself.  So  I  got  my  pistol  and  Bible,  and, 
after  telling  my  family  good-by,  went  down 
into  the  woods.  I  read  a  chapter,  prayed, 
put  the  pistol  to  my  head,  but  before  I  could 


58  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

pull  the  trigger  the  Lord  said:  'Brogan, 
Brogan,  do  thyself  no  harm.'  I  sprang  to 
my  feet,  shouting  and  promising  God  to 
surrender  and  preach."  I  always  have 
doubted  that  story;  for,  notwithstanding 
God's  seeming  lack  of  judgment  and  skill 
in  chasing  Brogan  twenty-five  years,  I  am 
satisfied  he  knew  no  bullet  would  have  hurt 
his  head.  At  the  meeting  where  he  told 
this  story  he  was  remonstrated  with  for 
calling  on  three  or  four  to  pray  at  the  same 
time,  and  then  making  so  much  noise  him- 
self as  to  make  it  impossible  to  hear  the 
others.  He  was  told  he  could  not  edify 
the  church  that  way.  "I  don't  want  to  edify 
the  church,"  was  his  enlightening  reply;  "I 
want  to  edify  the  Lord." 

There  was  nothing  mysterious  about  my 
call.  I  saw  that  men  were  needed.  I  felt 
that  I  was  one  of  the  men  needed;  and 
friends,  whose  judgment  I  highly  esteemed, 
told  me  I  was  fitted  for  the  work,  and  if  I 
would  go  to  college  and  prepare  myself,  I 
would  do  good.  I  responded  to  the  call  of 
duty,  and  believe  it  was  the  call  of  God. 

I  was  in  business  and  gave  it  all  up.  It 
is  no  small  thing  for  a  young  man  to  change 
his  whole  course  and  purpose  of  life.  Not 
until  I  had  bought  my  ticket  and  was  sitting 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  59 

on  my  trunk  on  the  platform  of  the  old 
Memphis  &  Charleston  depot  did  I  fully 
realize  the  step  I  had  taken.  I  had  been 
with  a  crowd  of  young  people  at  the  home 
of  one  of  my  dearest  friends  until  after 
midnight.  From  there  I  went  to  the  depot. 
It  was  a  lonesome  wait.  As  I  sat  there  lis- 
tening to  the  "chug,  chug"  of  the  steam- 
pump  and  the  dismal,  mournful  complaint 
of  the  steam  as  it  escaped  through  the  whis- 
tle on  the  locomotive,  the  world  suddenly 
grew  big,  and  I  was  alone.  I  was  never 
so  lonely  as  then.  The  old  life  was  gone, 
the  new  life  was  yet  to  come.  In  the  gloom 
the  faces  of  my  old  friends  seemed  to  mock 
me.  They  smiled  and  changed,  and  drifted 
out  into  the  darkness.  Some  of  them  have 
never  come  back,  some  look  down  from  be- 
yond the  stars,  and  some,  like  the  daguer- 
reotypes of  old,  require  peculiar  angles  to 
bring  them  out.  There  were  no  new  ones 
to  take  their  places,  and  my  whole  life 
seemed  empty.  How  long  this  feeling  pos- 
sessed me  I  do  not  know,  but,  in  spite  of 
my  depression,  there  was  no  regret  in  my 
heart  that  the  step  had  been  taken,  and 
there  never  has  been  any. 

After  what  seemed  to  be   an   age   the 
darkness  began  to  lift.     It  was  the  raising 


60  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

of  the  curtain  for  the  beginning  of  a  new 
act  in  the  drama  of  my  life.  A  reddish 
glow  made  itself  seen  above  the  rim  of  the 
eastern  horizon  and  beneath  the  brim  of 
my  derby.  Porters,  travelers  and  other 
human  beings  were  soon  in  evidence.  The 
busy  rumble  of  trucks  was  heard  on  the 
platform,  trunks  and  hat-boxes  were  put 
aboard,  the  conductor  gave  his  signal,  and 
I  was  off  for  the  University.  A  day's  visit 
was  made  in  Chattanooga,  and  again  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Lexington,  Kentucky.  I  ar- 
rived late  that  afternoon,  and  went  imme- 
diately to  the  home  of  the  president  of  the 
College  of  the  Bible.  What  a  delightfully 
charming  old  man  I  found  him  to  be.  He 
was  clean,  clean  through.  Robert  Graham 
was  a  man  whose  very  presence  was  a  bene- 
diction. The  boys  called  him  "Daddy 
Graham"  because  he  took  a  fatherly  interest 
in  us  all,  and  we  loved  him. 

On  my  way  to  Lexington  I  was  greatly 
impressed  with  the  beauty  of  the  blue-grass 
region.  It  was  my  first  experience  with 
that  famed  country,  and  I  was  astonished 
at  the  large  weeds  which  the  farmers  al- 
lowed to  cover  their  broad  and  beautiful 
acres.  Later  I  was  informed  that  my 
weeds  were  hemp.  Two  boys  on  their  way 


A   RED-HEADED    MAN  61 

from  the  great  State  of  Georgia  to  enter 
the  University  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  hemp  was  the  famous  blue-grass  about 
which  they  had  heard  so  much. 


62  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 


VI. 
MY  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY. 

The  first  Christmas  eve  I  spent  in  the 
University  was  very  mild,  and  at  bedtime 
a  drizzling  rain  was  falling.  During  the 
night  there  was  a  sudden  and  decided 
change  in  the  temperature.  The  rain 
turned  into  snow,  and  everything  began  to 
freeze.  We  were  awakened  during  the 
night  by  the  popping  and  crashing  of  the 
limbs  of  the  trees  out  on  the  campus.  The 
next  morning  we  were  greeted  on  every  side 
by  a  scene  of  wonderful  beauty.  It  was 
like  an  enchantment.  The  rocks  and  trees, 
hedges  and  bushes,  fences  and  houses — 
everything  was  covered  with  transparent 
silver.  When  the  sun  broke  through  the 
clouds,  ten  thousand  thousand  fairy  suns 
burst  from  the  heart  of  the  ice  in  glad  re- 
sponse, dazzling  the  eyes  with  their  glorious 
brilliancy.  Every  bush  was  aflame  with 
beauty  and  every  tree  was  transformed  into 
giant  clusters  of  blazing  gems.  Had  the 
rainbow  been  frozen  and  flung  broadcast 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  63 

over  the  earth,  the  carnival  of  color  could 
not  have  been  more  gorgeous.  It  looked  as 
if  dust  from  the  celestial  walls  had  been 
caught  by  the  Frost  King  and  frozen  into 
jewels.  Icicles,  great  and  small,  shot 
through  with  the  splendor  of  every  con- 
ceivable gem,  glittered  and  sparkled  along 
the  eaves  of  the  houses,  and  the  most  deli- 
cate and  intricate  laces  had  been  woven  by 
the  fingers  of  the  frost  fairies  and  hung 
along  the  telephone  and  telegraph  wires.  It 
was  an  anthem  in  color. 

But  with  all  this  marvelous  beauty  there 
was  terrible  destruction.  Telephone  poles 
were  broken  and  the  wires  mixed  in  hope- 
less confusion.  Shade-trees  were  denuded 
of  their  limbs,  blockading  the  sidewalks  and 
narrower  streets.  Trolley-wires  were  broken 
and  the  entire  street-car  system  had  nervous 
prostration. 

The  warmest-looking  thing  on  the  cam- 
pus that  morning  was  my  head.  Early  in  the 
morning  I  started  downtown.  Up  to  that 
time  my  feet  had  dwelt  together  in  love  and 
unity,  and  my  control  over  them  had  been 
perfect.  For  some  reason  they  decided  to 
take  different  routes.  So  secretly  was  this 
decision  resolved  upon,  and  so  suddenly 
and  energetically  was  it  executed,  I  was 


64  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

compelled  to  sit  down  at  once  and  with  con- 
siderable force  and  determination  in  order 
to  regain  control  over  my  rebellious  and 
scattered  members. 

One  of  the  boys,  while  walking  in  front 
of  Morton's  bookstore  a  few  days  later, 
lost  his  balance,  and  his  feet,  going  straight 
in  front  of  him,  struck  the  heels  of  a  lady 
who  was  walking  just  ahead  of  him.  Nei- 
ther being  able  to  keep  up  with  their  feet, 
both  sat  down.  He  sat  on  the  ice,  she  sat 
in  his  lap.  The  gallant  student,  taking  off 
his  hat,  exclaimed:  "Keep  your  seat, 
Madam.  Excuse  me  for  having  nothing 
better  than  my  poor,  miserable  body  to 
place  between  you  and  the  cold  earth."  All 
honor  to  the  University.  Sir  Walter  Ral- 
eigh was  outclassed  by  a  wearer  of  the 


'crimson." 


My  first  Christmas  in  the  University 
was  one  of  the  most  delightful  days  I  ever 
spent.  The  names  of  most  of  those  with 
whom  I  went,  carrying  cheer  and  help  to 
the  poor  and  sick,  have  faded  from  my 
memory,  but  I  shall  never  forget  the  joy 
we  got  from  our  missions  of  mercy.  One 
picture  will  remain  with  me  always.  It  is 
a  room  on  the  third  floor  of  a  business  block 
on  Main  Street.  A  crowd  of  happy  young 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  65 

women  were  standing  just  inside  the  door 
and  two  strong  young  men  are  handing  a 
big  basket,  heavy  with  good  things,  to  two 
old  women.  One  is  sitting  at  a  sewing-ma- 
chine, one  hand  on  her  work;  the  other 
hand  is  brushing  tears  from  her  wrinkled 
cheeks.  The  other  woman  is  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  with  some  sewing 
in  her  hands,  the  tears  falling  unheeded 
upon  her  work.  Tears  and  smiles  mingled 
together  on  their  drawn,  wrinkled  faces.. 
They  were  sewing  to  pay  for  their  Christ- 
mas dinner,  and  there  was  more  in  the 
basket  than  they  could  earn  in  a  week  by 
sewing.  They  could  not  say  a  word.  At 
every  effort  to  thank  us  they  would  choke, 
and  have  to  give  it  up.  But  their  tears  and 
smiles  were  more  eloquent  than  any  words 
could  have  been. 

One  of  the  boys  spent  that  Christmas 
with  some  of  the  members  of  the  church  on 
which  he  practiced  once  a  month.  Out  of 
respect  to  the  ministry,  he  was  asked  to  sit 
at  the  head  of  the  table  and  carve  the  tur- 
key. Previous  to  this  he  had  never  so 
much  as  carved  a  sausage.  Nevertheless, 
he  grasped  the  knife  as  if  he  were  chief 
butler  in  the  dormitory  of  the  Bible  College 
and  one  of  his  daily  and  special  duties  was 


66  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

carving  turkeys.  He  made  a  heroic  but 
fatal  lunge  at  the  bird.  The  knife  flashed, 
the  turkey  slid  out  of  the  dish  and  rolled 
under  the  table.  As  the  turkey  hit  the 
floor  the  diners  rose  to  their  feet.  The 
carver,  embarrassed  and  excited,  and  mis- 
understanding their  alarm,  in  a  loud  voice 
cried  out:  "Brethren  and  sisters,  please  be 
seated.  Don't  be  afraid;  the  turkey  can't 
get  away;  I  have  my  foot  on  him." 

Like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Per- 
sians, the  bill  of  fare  at  the  dormitory  was 
never  changed.  The  lack  of  change  in  the 
bill  of  fare  was  caused  by  the  lack  of  change 
in  the  boarders'  pockets.  For  the  price 
paid,  better  board  could  not  be  had  any- 
where. We  knew  nothing  about  the  high 
cost  of  living,  nor  the  cost  of  high  living. 
The  food  was  good,  wholesome,  well 
cooked  and  plenty  of  it.  However,  a  change 
now  and  then  was  a  very  agreeable  break  in 
the  gastronomic  gymnastics  of  the  boarders. 
This  change  in  the  natural  order  of  things 
took  place  on  Thanksgiving.  All  who  lived 
in  the  dormitories  recall  with  pleasure  their 
happy  experiences  there,  and  are  still  aston- 
ished at  the  maximum  amount  of  gravy  the 
cook  used  to  get  from  a  minimum  amount 
of  beef. 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  67 

During  Christmas  week  my  roommate 
and  I  missed  our  supper  at  the  dormitory, 
and  had  to  eat  at  a  downtown  restaurant. 
The  bill  of  fare  was  better,  but  the  bill  for 
the  fare  was  bigger.  We  had  called  on 
some  young  ladies,  and  did  not  leave  in 
time  for  supper  at  the  dormitory.  It  was 
reckless  to  stay  so  long,  but  we  had  two 
excuses.  We  were  enjoying  the  young 
ladies'  company,  and,  besides,  we  thought 
we  might  receive  an  invitation  to  supper. 

When  we  left,  my  roommate  said  to 
me:  "Have  you  any  money?  If  so,  let  me 
have  it."  As  it  was  after  banking-hours,  I 
had  only  a  dime,  which  I  at  once  let  him 
have,  refusing  to  take  his  note  or  to  charge 
interest.  Several  blocks  were  walked  in 
silence,  when  he  gave  me  a  most  cordial  in- 
vitation to  take  supper  with  him.  I  accept- 
ed, and  in  a  few  minutes  we  entered  a 
restaurant  on  Mill  Street  and  ordered  a 
simple  meal.  We  enjoyed  it.  The  only 
drawback  was  a  boil,  which,  fortunately  for 
me,  was  located  on  my  roommate.  Several 
times  we  expressed  the  wish  that  some  of 
the  dormitory  boys  could  see  us  putting  on 
style.  There  is  no  great  pleasure  in  being 
distinguished,  if  there  be  no  one  to  see 
your  distinction. 


68  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

When  the  supper  was  ended,  my  room- 
mate walked  over  to  the  cash-register  artist, 
and  asked  the  amount  of  his  bill.  "One 
dollar,"  was  the  reply.  The  toothpick  fell 
from  my  host's  mouth  as  he  turned  to  me 
and  said:  "Bee,  he  says  it  is  one  dollar." 
Calming  myself,  I  said:  "What  is  that  to 
me?  Am  I  not  your  invited  guest?"  My 
roommate  had  forty  cents,  and  my  dime 
made  a  sum  total  of  fifty  cents  in  the  treas- 
ury. He  looked  through  all  his  pockets  at 
least  five  times,  and  at  last  turned  and  said: 
"Bee,  have  you  any  money  about  you?" 
He  was  fighting  for  time.  We  both  knew 
I  had  no  money,  but  my  hands  started  on 
what  we  both  knew,  a  priori,  to  be  a  fruit- 
less search.  Five  times  I  went  through  my 
pockets,  seriously  and  earnestly,  but  there 
was  not  the  suspicion  of  money  to  be  found. 
There  was  not  even  the  odor  of  money, 
no,  not  a  cent.  With  a  pained  expression 
on  his  face,  my  host,  with  a  faint  hope  that 
he  misunderstood,  again  turned  to  the  cash- 
ier, and  said:  "How  much  did  you  say?" 
"One  dollar,"  was  the  calm  reply  as  he 
edged  between  us  and  the  door.  "He  says 
one  dollar,  Bee,"  my  host  whispered  to  me 
in  a  tone  of  chagrin  and  disgust.  Away 
went  our  hands  again  on  a  fruitless  search. 


A   RED-HEADED    MAN  69 

All  this  time  the  proprietor  was  gazing 
upon  us  as  if  we  were  giving  a  sleight-of- 
hand  performance  or  an  exhibition  of 
delsarte.  Exhausted  with  the  strenuous  but 
hopeless  search  for  money,  my  host  handed 
the  cashier  his  fifty  cents,  turned  to  the 
proprietor,  and  said:  "We  are  students  in 
the  Bible  College  of  the  University.  I 
thought  I  had  enough  money  to  pay  for  our 
suppers;  but  fifty  cents  is  all  I  have,  and 
that  fellow  says  it  is  one  dollar.  Here  is 
my  watch.  Keep  it  until  I  call  and  pay 
the  balance."  "Keep  your  watch,"  said  the 
proprietor;  "we  don't  sell  suppers  on  time. 
You  can  stop  in  any  time  and  pay  the  bal- 
ance." 

Down  in  our  hearts  we  were  glad  none 
of  the  dormitory  boys  saw  us  in  the  restau- 
rant. To  be  extinguished  is  not  so  bad 
when  no  one  sees  your  extinction.  After 
leaving  the  restaurant  we  walked  some  dis- 
tance in  silence.  Finally  my  host  put  his 
hands  on  my  shoulders  and  said:  "Bee, 
wasn't  it  awful?  But  there  is  one  conso- 
lation." "What  is  that?"  I  asked.  "I  will 
not  have  to  have  that  boil  lanced.  Under 
the  strain  of  the  excitement  it  broke."  "So 
did  we,"  I  replied,  and  we  continued  in 
silence  to  the  dormitory. 


70  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 


VII. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  BISHOPS. 

The  comradeship  of  college  life  is  one 
of  its  most  valuable  assets.  There  is  a 
charm  about  it  that  lasts  as  long  as  the 
memory  of  college  days  lasts.  I  had  many 
dear  friends  in  the  University,  but  I  can 
not  mention  them  all  in  these  "Recollec- 
tions." However,  I  am  going  to  tell  about 
one  organization  of  which  I  was  a  member 
— "The  House  of  Bishops."  It  was  an 
unique  club,  but  nothing  like  as  theological 
as  its  name  would  indicate.  It  was  not  an 
ecclesiastical  organization  at  all,  but  a 
social  club,  composed  of  the  following  fel- 
lows: Howard,  Gano,  Jesse,  Dick,  Ben, 
Newt,  Charlie,  Russ  and  the  writer. 

It  had  its  Genesis  one  night  at  the 
Phoenix  Hotel  while  a  few  of  us  were  en- 
joying the  unusual  experience  of  a  six 
o'clock  dinner  at  that  well-known  hostelry. 
Its  Judges  were  many,  and  those  who 
thought  it  exclusive  were  ready  for  its 
Exodus  at  any  time.  Its  Leviticus  was  not 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  71 

completed  at  once,  but  was  a  matter  of 
growth. 

When  completed,  its  laws  were  as  hard 
to  change  as  those  of  the  Medes  and  Per- 
sians. These  laws  were  very  simple.  Its 
membership  was  not  to  be  increased  and 
there  were  no  officers.  Every  man  was 
equal.  We  were  to  meet  once  a  week  to 
enjoy  a  banquet  which  was  to  be  given  by 
one  of  the  Bishops.  The  amount  to  be 
expended  upon  the  banquet  was  limited. 
We  were  to  give  five  dollars  apiece  to  any 
and  every  Bishop  when  he  married.  At 
that  time  there  was  no  especial  demand  for 
us  in  the  matrimonial  market,  and  each  of 
us  thought  our  five  dollars  safe.  But  since 
that  law  went  into  effect  all  the  Bishops 
have  married.  We  have  all  spent  our  five 
dollars  and  received  them  back  again.  In 
all  but  two  of  the  homes  thus  formed  has 
been  heard  the  music  of  prattling  tongues. 

The  supreme  object  of  the  "Bishops" 
was  to  have  the  best  possible  time  consistent 
with  our  calling  and  purpose  in  life — and 
we  had  it.  Howard  broke  the  law  as  to 
banquets  once  at  his  boarding-house.  It 
was  a  most  elaborate  spread.  The  big 
mahogany  table  was  surrounded  by  the 
"House  of  Bishops."  Howard,  the  gray 


72  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

matter  of  whose  head  was  even  then  stretch- 
ing his  scalp  too  fast  for  his  hair  to  keep 
up,  was  at  the  head  of  the  table,  if  a  round 
table  can  have  a  head.  Dick,  with  a  hatband 
bigger  than  his  waistband,  and  a  head  full 
of  brains;  Charlie,  and  the  musical-fingered 
Ben;  Newt,  with  the  valedictory  as  good 
as  won,  and  Russ,  with  athletic  and  de- 
clamatory medals;  big-bodied  Gano,  with 
heart  as  big  as  his  body,  and  mind  as  big 
as  his  heart;  scholarly  Jesse,  full  of  fun 
and  fact;  Graham,  handsome,  polished  and 
brainy — these  were  all  there. 

Yes,  I,  the  "fiery-crested  orator,"  was 
there.  But  why  mention  it?  I  was  like  a 
blind  man  in  an  art  gallery  or  a  deaf  man 
at  a  band  concert.  I  was  hungry,  but  un- 
able to  eat.  From  the  table  I  was  to  go 
to  the  platform  to  contest  for  a  medal.  For 
fear  of  spoiling  my  oration,  I  spoiled  my 
supper.  I  know  now  that  one  supper  in 
the  stomach  is  worth  two  medals  in  the 
hands  of  the  judges.  I  lost  out  in  the  con- 
test, and  when  the  "Bishops"  came  upon 
the  platform  to  console  me,  I  answered, 
"Yes,  but  I  would  not  mind  it  so  much  if  I 
had  not  lost  my  supper  as  well."  I  will 
never  again  let  a  possible  medal  spoil  a 
positive  supper. 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  73 

The  serenades — do  you  remember  them, 
boys?  Gano  and  the  "golden  fleeced"  were 
not  allowed  to  sing  on  these  occasions. 
Often  did  this  crowd  gather  on  the  steps 
of  "Morrison  Chapel"  and  sing  until  "the 
clock  in  the  steeple  struck  one,"  and  the 
police  department  threatened  to  strike  ten. 
One  night  when  Gano  and  I  were  requested 
to  swallow  our  voices,  we  got  our  revenge. 
I  could,  in  those  days,  imitate  to  perfection 
the  barking  of  a  small  dog.  The  best  be- 
loved of  one  of  the  "Bishops"  was  being 
regaled  with  "Sweet  Antoinette."  At  the 
most  touching  part,  when  the  tenor  was  in 
his  most  intense  distress,  I  began  to  howl 
like  a  dog  in  great  pain.  From  howling  I 
was  driven  to  loud  barking  by  the  strenuous 
commands  of  Gano  to  hush  up  and  go 
home.  Still  I  barked,  much  to  the  confusion 
of  the  vocalists  and  the  strangulation  of 
the  tenor.  Gano  seized  a  brick  and  threw 
it  upon  the  pavement  with  great  force, 
whereupon  I  began  to  yelp  like  a  dog  which 
had  just  awakened  from  dreams  of  weiner- 
wursts  and  frankfurters.  Every  dog  within 
a  radius  of  ten  blocks  took  up  the  chorus, 
and  the  singers  scattered  in  every  direction; 
but  the  dogs  continued  barking  till  broad  day- 
light. 


74  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

The  last  time  the  "Bishops"  were 
together  was  in  April,  1898,  at  Junction 
City,  Kentucky.  All  were  there  except 
Jesse.  The  occasion  was  my  birthday.  I 
was  preaching  there  at  that  time,  and  the 
church  entertained  the  "Bishops"  in  my 
honor.  Since  that  gathering  two  of  the 
boys  have  gone  home — Ben  and  Charlie. 
Charlie  was  the  first  to  go.  He  was  a 
prince  among  men.  No  man  was  hand- 
somer. An  Australian  by  birth,  he  had  to 
an  unusual  degree  the  musical  voice  of  that 
land  of  the  Southern  Cross.  The  alphabet, 
under  the  magic  of  his  charmful  voice,  be- 
came a  poem  and  a  song.  His  future  was 
bright  in  its  prospects.  He  enjoys  a  bright- 
er present. 

Who  could  know  dear  little  old,  fun- 
making,  mirth-provoking,  dark-eyed  Ben, 
and  not  love  him  ?  Cultured,  well  educated, 
strong  minded,  he  was  a  most  agreeable 
companion.  His  heart  was  so  full  of  music 
it  ran  out  of  the  ends  of  his  fingers.  He 
composed  "Come,  Boys,  and  Sing  to  Old 
K.  U."  for  the  "Bishops,"  but  it  was  too 
big  for  us,  so  we  gave  it  to  the  University, 
His  sweet  voice  no  longer  falls  upon  our 
ears.  He  is  in  the  better  land. 

Charlie  and  Ben  each  left  a  wife  and 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  75 

little  boy.  May  the  memories  of  the  fathers 
ever  be  a  rich  legacy  to  the  mothers  and 
their  boys.  In  the  beautiful  cemetery  in 
Lexington  the  bodies  of  our  comrades  lie 
beneath  the  blue-grass,  while  the  silent 
statue  of  Henry  Clay  through  storm  and 
shine  watches  over  them. 

In  October,  1909,  after  a  separation  of 
eleven  years,  eight  of  the  "Bishops,"  with 
the  widows  of  the  two  who  have  gone  on 
ahead,  sat  down  to  dinner  together  in  the 
Fort  Pitt  Hotel,  Pittsburgh,  Pennsylvania. 
We  shall  never  all  be  together  again  in  this 
life,  but  we  may  all  sit  down  under  the 
shade  of  the  trees  by  the  side  of  the  river 
which  flows  from  the  throne  of  God,  and 
renew  the  friendships  formed  in  the  dear 
old  days  we  spent  together  in  the  Univer- 
sity. 


76  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 


VIII. 

STUDYING  NATURAL  SCIENCE. 

Next  to  a  stolen  conversation  with  a 
Hamilton  College  girl,  the  most  enjoyable 
thing  in  the  University  was  Professor  Fair- 
hurst's  department.  Not  much  can  be  said 
as  to  his  good  looks.  His  wife  evidently 
took  him  "sight  unseen."  It  is  also  conceded 
that  as  a  singer  he  could  never  be  a  star  of 
the  first  magnitude.  His  voice  was  like  a 
soprano  automobile  horn.  As  a  scientist 
he  should  have  known  that  the  mouth  was 
made  to  talk  through,  but  for  some  reason 
he  made  constant  use  of  his  nose  in  his 
vocal  exercises.  What  he  lost  in  voice  cul- 
ture and  beauty  of  facial  expression,  he, 
without  doubt,  made  up  in  knowledge  of 
all  the  branches  of  his  department.  He 
had  no  use  for  a  text-book  of  any  sort,  ex- 
cept to  indicate  the  lesson  for  the  next  day. 
He  was  a  text-book  in  himself.  Many  of 
his  students,  from  mere  absorption,  became 
text-books,  bound  in  calf.  The  Professor, 
besides  being  a  past  master  in  science,  was 


A   RED-HEADED    MAN  77 

a  man  of  keen  wit  and  always  had  on  hand 
a  bountiful  supply  of  wholesome  humor. 
He  took  a  real  interest  in  the  boys,  and  all 
the  boys  loved  him. 

The  student  who  kept  his  mind  awake 
came  from  his  room  full  of  science  and 
good  humor.  No  doubt  there  were  some 
who  sat  for  months  in  his  department  with- 
out any  special  benefit,  but  it  was  no  fault 
of  the  Professor.  You  can  not  hang  pic- 
tures on  a  wall  that  will  not  hold  nails. 
While  I  was  preaching  in  Meridian,  Miss- 
issippi, a  young  lady  informed  me  that  a 
certain  young  man  had  said  that  he  enjoyed 
hearing  me  preach,  but  that  I  made  no 
impression  on  him,  as  everything  I  said 
went  in  one  ear  and  out  the  other.  I  told 
her  to  inform  the  young  man  that  I  was 
not  to  be  held  responsible  for  absence  of 
anything  in  his  head  to  stop  what  went  in 
his  ears.  The  condition  of  that  young  man 
was  the  condition  of  many  in  the  Profess- 
or's classes.  He  often  told  some  fellow, 
who  failed  to  hold  much  science  in  his  head, 
that  he  must  have  been  the  little  boy  that 
got  a  bean  in  one  ear  and  his  mother  poured 
water  in  the  other  to  wash  it  out.  Many 
are  the  memories,  and  as  delightful  as 
numerous,  that  come  to  me  when  I  recall 


78  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

the  hours  spent  in  his  classroom.  His  reci- 
tations and  lectures  would  cure  the  worst 
case  of  blues  or  swelled  head  the  University 
could  boast.  You  need  not  expect  me  to 
recall  for  your  edification  any  of  the  science 
I  got  there.  You  can  find  that  on  my 
library  shelves,  well  preserved  in  text-books 
and  "Organic  Evolution  Considered." 

While  studying  the  circulation  of  the 
blood,  a  frog  was  needed  to  demonstrate 
the  matter.  He  offered  to  take  a  frog  in 
lieu  of  a  recitation,  and  would  let  a  big, 
fat  one  count  perfect.  Next  day  one  of  the 
boys  came  in  with  two  palpitating,  plump 
ones.  The  class  greeted  the  delivery  of  the 
frogs  with  loud  laughter  and  applause. 
"That's  right,  boys,  laugh  now,"  said  the 
Professor,  "but  when  examination  day  rolls 
around  you  will  wish  you  had  more  than 
two  frogs  to  your  credit.  If  you  wish  to 
pass,  some  of  you  had  better  put  in  all 
your  spare  time  between  now  and  examina- 
tion day  catching  frogs."  When  that  day 
did  come,  boys  all  over  the  room  could  be 
heard  saying:  "A  frog,  a  frog,  my  kingdom 
for  a  bushel  of  frogs." 

During  one  of  his  lectures  he  noticed 
one  of  the  boys  had  his  feet  upon  the  top 
of  the  bench  just  in  front  of  him,  the  hollow 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  79 

of  the  instep  resting  on  the  rail.  The  boy 
was  somewhat  famous  in  the  University  for 
the  size  of  his  feet.  Suddenly  stopping  his 
lecture,  he  said:  "Young  fellow,  are  your 
heels  on  the  floor?"  Needless  to  say,  they 
were  soon  there. 

The  class  in  mineralogy  was  standing  its 
examination  at  the  close  of  the  session.  One 
of  the  boys  asked  to  be  excused  from  the 
room.  "Have  you  answered  all  the  ques- 
tions?" was  the  reply.  "Yes,"  said  the 
student,  with  a  smile  of  great  self-apprecia- 
tion, "I  stood  your  examination  in  fifteen 
minutes."  "You  surprise  me,"  said  the 
Professor;  "I  did  not  think  it  would  take 
so  long  to  empty  that  head  of  yours." 

One  "First  Day  of  April"  his  classes 
all  ran  on  schedule  time.  While  the  class 
in  "Physics"  was  taking  its  medicine  there 
came  a  lusty  rap  at  the  door.  "Come  in," 
called  the  Professor.  After  a  short  period 
of  silence  there  came  another  rap,  more 
lusty  than  before.  "Didn't  you  hear  me?" 
he  called;  "I  said,  'Come  in.' '  Again 
there  was  silence,  followed  by  a  still  more 
lusty  rap.  This  time  he  walked  over  to 
the  door  and  opened  it.  No  one  was  there, 
but  tied  to  the  door-knob  was  a  most  dilap- 
idated specimen  of  cur  dog.  He  was,  or, 


80  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

rather,  had  been,  white  and  shaggy,  but 
had  the  appearance  at  that  time  of  having 
been  used  as  a  mop  and  never  dry  cleaned. 
"Well,"  said  the  Professor,  as  he  closed 
the  door,  "some  fool  has  been  here  and 
left  his  business  card." 

During  the  cold  weather  some  of  the 
boys  had  a  custom  of  coming  to  his  room 
to  keep  warm.  One  of  these  fellows  was 
about  six  feet  long  and  of  the  circumference 
of  a  fishing-pole.  If  umbrella  covers  had 
feet  to  them,  he  could  have  used  them  for 
stockings.  His  arms  were  slightly  curved 
and  his  legs  more  so.  One  day  he  and 
several  others  were  standing  around  the 
stove,  and  the  Professor  asked  them  to  be 
seated.  All  sat  down  except  the  tall,  thin 
man.  Several  times  the  request  was  made 
for  him  to  be  seated,  but  he  continued  to 
stand.  At  last  the  Professor  called  out: 
"Say  now,  young  man,  why  don't  you  sit 
down?  Can't  you  see  the  stove  is  warping 
you  all  out  of  shape?" 

A  rather  impertinent  and  inquisitive 
young  fellow  called  out  one  day  during  a 
session  of  the  class  in  zoology:  "Say,  Pro- 
fessor, how  long  can  an  animal  live  without 
brains?"  "I  don't  know  exactly,"  was  the 
reply;  "how  old  are  you?" 


A   RED-HEADED    MAN  81 


IX. 

AN  INVITATION  TO  DINNER. 

During  my  college  days  I  preached 
twice  a  month  for  a  church  about  fifty  miles 
from  the  University.  There  was  a  woman 
in  the  church  who  was  always  asking  me 
when  I  was  going  to  take  a  meal  at  her 
house,  but  she  would  never  ask  me  to  take 
a  meal  there.  She  was  a  spare  woman, 
such  a  woman  as  most  any  church  can  spare. 
Her  continually  asking  me  why  I  never  did 
a  thing  she  never  asked  me  to  do  began  to 
get  on  my  nerves,  and  I  decided  I  would 
call  what  I  thought  was  an  effort  to  get 
credit  for  hospitality  without  paying  the 
price.  So  on  the  following  Sunday  after  my 
decision,  when  she  extended  the  customary 
bi-weekly  invitation,  I  immediately  accepted. 
Though  surprised,  she  seemed  delighted. 

Next  Saturday  I  arrived  in  the  town 
and  got  one  of  the  town  members  to  drive 
me  out  to  the  home  of  the  hospitable  sister. 
Her  home  was  about  three  miles  from  town. 
The  brother  was  a  big,  fat,  jovial  sort  of 

6 


82  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

fellow,  and  joked  me  a  good  deal  about  my 
prospects  for  dinner.  He  was  the  brother 
that  guyed  me  one  day  in  a  crowd  for  being 
a  little  man.  He  said:  "I  am  a  whole  lot 
bigger  man  than  you  are."  I  told  him  that 
that  depended  upon  whether  he  ran  the 
tape-line  around  his  waist  or  head.  How- 
ever, he  had  a  good  horse  and  soon  drew 
up  at  the  big  gate.  I  bade  him  good-by  and 
started  for  the  house.  He  started  for  home. 
It  was  nearly  dinner-time,  and  I  saw  as 
soon  as  I  entered  the  house  that  there  had 
been  no  special  plans  made  for  dinner  in 
that  house  that  day.  A  preacher  gets  so 
he  can  read  signs  in  a  home  just  as  the 
astronomer  reads  them  in  the  skies. 

Knowing  that  the  friend  who  had 
brought  me  was  getting  farther  away  all 
the  time,  and  that,  if  I  wanted  any  dinner 
that  day,  I  had  to  act  with  promptness,  I 
said:  "Is  this  the  day  you  are  expecting  me 
for  dinner?"  With  a  look  of  pained  sur- 
prise and  injured  innocence,  she  replied: 
"No,  brother;  did  you  think  it  was?"  I  was 
forced  to  confess  that  I  did  so  think;  but 
I  could  plainly  see  there  was  another 
"think"  coming  to  me,  and  that  "think" 
would  have  to  hurry  or  I  would  have  to  use 
"Christian  Science"  and  give  my  stomach 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  83 

absent  treatment  to  satisfy  my  appetite.  I 
said  I  was  sorry  I  had  made  the  mistake. 
She  said  she  was  too.  "Where  is  your  hus- 
band?" I  asked.  "Gone  to  Stanford,"  was 
the  reply;  "and  I  was  so  anxious  for  you 
to  eat  with  us  when  he  was  here."  "Well," 
I  said,  "we  can  wait  dinner  on  him.  When 
will  he  return?"  "Oh,  not  till  night,  and 
he  will  be  so  disappointed  not  to  eat  with 
you."  The  situation  was  getting  more  des- 
perate every  moment,  and  I  was  too  hungry 
to  wait  until  night  for  something  to  eat. 
"Excuse  me,"  I  said,  as  I  dashed  out  of  the 
house  and  rushed  over  to  the  side  fence. 
The  brother  who  had  brought  me  out  was 
not  yet  out  of  sight.  The  road  made  a 
curve  after  leaving  the  front  gate,  and  after 
running  for  some  distance  came  back  toward 
the  side  of  the  house.  I  climbed  upon  the 
fence  and  began  to  yell  with  all  the  strength 

of   my   lungs :    "Oh,    Brother    B ,    oh, 

Brother    B ,    come    back    and    get    me 

quick."  The  sister  came  out  in  the  yard, 
and  said:  "Never  mind,  brother,  don't 
worry;  if  it  is  a  horse  you  need,  I  will  lend 
you  one."  The  horse  was  refused,  and  I 
started  out  to  look  for  a  dinner.  About  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  there  was  the  home 
of  an  aged  mother  in  Israel.  Her  home 


84  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

was  the  preacher's  home.  Like  the  good 
woman  of  the  Bible,  she  had  a  room  for 
the  prophet. 

Hers  was  a  beautiful  home.  The  big 
brick  house  was  surrounded  by  a  lawn  of 
blue-grass,  but  the  deep  green  of  the  grass 
showed  only  in  patches  here  and  there 
through  the  snow.  The  whole  place  had 
about  it  the  air  of  hospitality.  Even  the 
bare-limbed  trees  seemed  to  extend  their 
long,  brown  arms  in  welcome.  My  knock 
on  the  door  was  answered  by  the  dear  old 
grandmother,  whose  highest  social  ambition 
was  to  entertain  "her  ministers."  All  min- 
isters were  hers.  "Have  you  had  dinner?" 
I  asked.  "No,  but  why  ask?"  I  told  I  had 
not  had  any,  and  was  looking  for  a  place 
to  get  a  square  meal.  She  asked  me  in, 
and  informed  me  that  I  could  have  a  square 
meal  there  any  time  of  day  I  wanted  it. 

While  waiting  dinner  on  her  daughter 
and  her  husband,  who  had  gone  to  town 
that  morning,  we  sat  by  the  glowing  fire 
and  talked.  /The  aged  grandmother  sat  by 
the  fire  in  her  big  arm-chair,  while  her  little 
four-year-old  grandson  played  with  his  toys 
upon  the  floor.  -  Her  hair  was  like  fine-spun 
silver  in  which  were  caught  the  soft,  sweet 
shadows  of  life's  evening  tide.  His  was 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  85 

like  fine-spun  gold  in  which  was  caught  the 
sunshine  of  life's  early  morning.  She  was 
memory,  he  was  hope.  She  talked  of  the 
flowers  of  the  past  that  had  bloomed  and 
faded,  but  had  left  their  fragrance  to  re- 
joice her  declining  years.  He  played  upon 
the  floor,  his  smiles  and  gleeful  shouts 
strange  promises  of  coming  sobs  and  sor- 
rows. Every  now  and  then  he  would  leave 
his  play,  crawl  up  into  his  grandmother's 
lap,  put  his  arms  around  her  neck  and  kiss 
her  aged,  wrinkled  cheek.  With  trembling 
hand  she  would  brush  away  her  tears,  and 
the  lips  of  memory  would  snatch  sweetness 
and  strength  from  the  lips  of  hope.  Such 
is  life — shadow  and  sunshine,  sobs  and 
songs,  memory  and  hope.  /May  we  all  so 
live  as  to  sanctify  memory  and  glorify  hope. 
One  of  the  boys,  who  preached  for  a 
church  about  sixty  miles  from  Lexington, 
was  sick  and  had  to  send  another  young 
preacher  to  fill  his  appointment.  He  arrived 
Sunday  morning  and  went  from  the  depot 
to  the  church.  When  the  services  were 
concluded,  many  shook  hands  with  him,  but 
no  one  asked  him  home  to  dinner.  He  was 
hungry  and  had  spent  all  his  money  reach- 
ing the  appointment.  Something  had  to  be 
done,  and  done  at  once.  Drawing  himself 


86  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

up  to  his  full  height  and  assuming  all  the 
dignity  possible,  he  walked  up  to  a  gentle- 
man and  said:  "Come  and  go  home  to 
dinner  with  me."  "Where  do  you  live?" 
was  the  reply.  "Oh,  in  Lexington."  With 
a  laugh  the  gentleman  said:  "I  guess  you 
had  better  go  home  with  me  to  dinner." 
He  went.  Another  boy,  finding  himself  in 
a  similar  fix  at  a  country  church,  selected 
the  one  who  looked  as  if  she  would  have 
the  best  dinner  of  any,  walked  up  to  her  and 
said:  "I  beg  your  pardon,  but  are  you  the 
sister  that  asked  me  to  go  home  to  dinner 
with  you?"  "No,"  she  replied,  "I  am  not 
the  one,  but  I  can  ask  you.  Will  you  go 
home  to  dinner  with  me?"  He  thanked  her 
for  the  invitation,  and,  like  the  other  fellow, 
went.  The  above  and  the  following  will 
show  that  I  was  not  the  only  student  preach- 
er who  had  trouble  with  his  commissary  de- 
partment. This  one  went  out  some  distance 
in  the  country  during  his  vacation  to  hold  a 
meeting.  After  his  first  sermon  an  old  lady 
came  up  to  him,  and  in  a  high-pitched  voice, 
with  a  strong  nasal  tone  attached,  said: 
"Well,  brother,  you  must  stay  with  us 
some.  I  told  them  when  they  was  a-gettin' 
up  this  meetin',  that  I  was  perfectly  willin' 
to  bear  my  part  of  the  burden." 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  87 


X. 

JUST  BECAUSE  I  AM  RED-HEADED. 

There  was  a  certain  fellow  in  the  Uni- 
versity whose  head  was  as  hairless  as  an 
egg  and  as  empty  as  a  toy  balloon  with  a 
pin-hole  in  it.  He  was  agent  for  a  joke 
factory  that  went  into  bankruptcy  at  the 
time  the  discontinuance  of  the  building  of 
the  tower  of  Babel  threw  so  many  people 
out  of  employment.  The  hair  that  should 
have  been  on  his  head  was  usually  on  his 
jokes.  His  jokes  would  have  made  a  better 
appearance  if  they  had  been  treated  as  the 
farmer  down  in  Mississippi  told  my  wife 
his  butter  had  been  treated.  Among  the 
good  things  he  said  in  favor  of  his  butter 
was  that  it  had  been  haired.  When  asked 
for  an  explanation  he  replied:  "Well,  you 
see,  it  is  this  way:  my  wife  always  runs  a 
fork  through  it  to  get  all  the  hairs  out." 
One  day  the  fellow  who  had  received  absent 
treatment  for  hair  was  telling  how  he  got 
away  with  a  red-headed  man.  Being  in 
the  crowd,  I  took  it  that  he  was  talking  for 


88  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

my  benefit.  "It  was  this  way,"  he  said;  "a 
red-headed  fellow  said  to  me,  'Hello, 
friend,  you  were  not  around  when  they  were 
giving  out  hair,  were  you?'  'Oh,  yes,'  I 
said,  'I  was  there,  but  there  was  nothing  but 
red  left  and  I  would  not  have  it.'  '  "You 
are  mistaken,  friend,"  was  my  reply;  "you 
refused  the  red  hair  when  people  of  good 
taste  were  clamoring  for  it,  because  you 
were  absent  when  they  were  distributing 
gray  matter." 

I  came  very  nearly  being  the  cause  of  a 
riot  in  Hamilton  College  one  day,  and  all 
because  of  the  color  of  my  hair.  I  roomed 
directly  opposite  the  college.  The  lady  who 
had  the  front  room  next  door  to  mine,  re- 
joiced in  the  possession  of  a  lamp  with  a 
large  red  shade.  Late  one  afternoon  one 
of  the  girls  remarked  that  she  saw  the  red- 
headed student  sitting  at  his  window.  An- 
other one  said  that  she  was  mistaken;  that 
the  lady  had  lit  her  lamp  with  the  red 
shade.  The  discussion  grew  warm,  and 
soon  a  large  number  of  the  girls  were  in- 
volved in  the  debate.  Fortunately,  the 
supper-bell  called  them  from  hair  to  hash, 
and  the  riot  subsided. 

Just  after  dark  one  evening  I  met  a  fel- 
low in  front  of  my  house,,  who  seemed  to 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  89 

be  in  trouble.  Approaching  him,  I  inquired 
as  to  his  trouble  and  offered  him  my  ser- 
vices. He  informed  me  that  he  lived  in  one 
of  the  suburbs,  and  had  been  trying  for  ten 
blocks  to  get  on  a  car  that  would  take  him 
home,  but  for  some  reason  he  had  failed  to 
get  one  to  stop.  I  guided  him  to  a  proper 
place,  and  waited  for  a  car,  promising  him 
that  I  would  see  that  he  got  on  the  right 
one,  and  would  instruct  the  conductor  to 
put  him  off  at  his  street.  While  waiting  for 
the  car  he  recognized  me,  and  said:  "Pard- 
ner,  you  are  a  preacher,  ain't  you?"  "Yes," 
I  replied.  "Well,  I  declare,  you  are  a 
preacher,  and  I  am-  drunk;  and  you  are 
going  to  put  me  on  the  car  and  tell  them 
to  put  me  off  at  the  right  place?"  I  agreed 
that  he  had  things  correctly  sized  up. 

"Well,  all  I  gotta  say  is  that  it  is  a  

nice  thing  for  you  to  do,"  he  said  as  he 
leaned  on  me  for  support.  "No,"  he  con- 
tinued, "that  ain't  what  I  wanted  to  say. 
Yes,  it  is,  but  that  ain't  the  way  I  wanted 
to  say  it." 

One  day  while  I  was  serving  the  church 
in  Lebanon,  Kentucky,  a  woman  street 
preacher  was  delivering  a  tirade  against 
everything  she  could  think  of  and  many 
things  she  never  thought  of  very  much. 


90  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

Most  of  her  remarks,  however,  were  di- 
rected toward  preachers  and  saloon-keepers. 
I  had  taken  my  stand  in  a  doorway  of  one 
of  the  stores.  Some  one  said  to  me: 
"Brother,  she  is  giving  you  preachers  a 
plenty."  A  fellow,  standing  on  the  walk 
just  in  front  of  me,  turned  and  carefully 
examined  me  from  foot  to  head.  Having 
completed  his  examination,  he  asked: 
"Pardner,  are  you  a  preacher?"  "Yes," 
was  the  reply,  "I  am."  "Well,  I  am  a 

saloon-keeper;  and  she's  giving  us ,  ain't 

she?"  "It  looks  that  way  to  me,"  was  my 
reply,  as  with  blushing  head  I  walked  away. 
The  chairman  of  one  of  our  State  mis- 
sionary conventions,  in  introducing  me  to 
the  audience,  said  among  other  things: 
"While  in  the  University  I  lived  in  constant 
fear  most  of  the  time.  You  see,  our  red- 
headed brother,  who  is  to  speak  to  us  now, 
had  a  room  in  the  dormitory  just  beneath 
mine,  and  I  was  in  constant  dread  of  his 
setting  fire  to  the  building  and  burning  me 
up."  I  began  my  speech  by  saying:  "Our 
chairman  was  about  the  greenest  specimen 
that  ever  entered  the  University.  He  was 
that  green  he  had  to  be  posted  to  keep  the 
cows  from  eating  him.  I  thank  him  for 
what  he  has  said.  A  light  breaks  in  upon 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  91 

me  and  reveals  that  which  at  the  time  was 
hidden.  I  noticed  the  frightened  look  upon 
his  face,  but  never  dreamed  that  I  was  the 
cause  of  it.  However,  his  fears  were 
groundless,  and,  had  he  come  to  me,  I 
would  have  set  his  mind  at  ease.  I  could 
have  proved  by  a  unanimous  vote  of  the 
student  body  that  there  was  absolutely  no 
danger:  for  it  would  have  taken  a  six 
months'  experience  in  a  dry-kiln  before  he 
could  have  scorched,  much  less  burned  up." 

This  reminds  me  of  another  chairman. 
His  name  was  Hill,  and  a  fine  fellow  he 
was.  He  introduced  me  to  a  large  Chris- 
tian Endeavor  session  in  the  Colosseum  in 
New  Orleans,  by  saying  I  was  from  Miss- 
issippi, and  that  the  red  hills  of  the  State 
were  no  redder  than  my  hair.  I  replied 
by  saying:  "If  it  were  not  for  the  nearness 
of  the  chairman,  I  would  be  thinking  of 
the  'green  Hill  far  away.' ' 

I  stuck  my  head  in  the  ticket  window  at 
Campbellsville,  Kentucky,  one  day,  and 
called  for  a  ticket  to  Dyersburg,  Tennessee. 
The  agent  was  a  friend  of  mine.  He  gave 
me  the  ticket  and  said  he  had  a  favor  to 
ask  of  me.  Of  course  I  put  myself  at  his 
service.  I  was  always  rather  reckless  in 
granting  favors.  He  had  a  lady  friend, 


92  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

she  was  going  the  way  I  was,  and  he  wished 
me  to  see  that  she  made  proper  connection 
with  the  train  going  south  from  Louisville. 
I  wanted  him  to  introduce  me  at  once,  but 
he  was  too  wise  for  that.  Had  he  done  so, 
I  think  I  would  have  managed  to  have  been 
accidentally  left  in  Campbellsville.  As  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  platform,  visions 
of  female  youth  and  beauty  floated  before 
my  eyes,  but  there  was  no  floating  on  the 
part  of  the  lady  in  question.  It  would  have 
taken  a  derrick  to  float  her.  The  train 
waited  sometime  at  the  station.  That  train 
never  was  in  a  hurry.  Anticipation  was  al- 
most consuming  me.  Finally  the  agent  took 
me  into  the  car,  passed  by  all  the  good-look- 
ing young  ladies,  and  stopped  at  a  coach  pew 
that  was  full  of  woman.  She  was  a  flood 
of  fat  and  nearly  overflowed  the  bench.  I 
was  afraid  I  would  have  to  meet  her  on 
the  installment  plan.  We  are  an  extrava- 
gant people.  There  was  enough  waist  about 
that  woman  to  have  made  extra  large  twins. 
What  a  waste  of  material  was  there  in  the 
material  of  that  waist. 

Now,  I  have  no  objections  to  fat  people. 
They  are  more  to  be  loved  than  thin  ones; 
because  there  is  more  to  be  loved.  But 
this  woman  would  have  bankrupted  a  Mor- 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  93 

mon  elder.  Besides  herself,  she  had  seven 
boys.  They  ranged  all  over  that  end  of 
the  car  and  from  the  age  of  six  on  up  to 
whatever  age  was  necessary  for  the  oldest 
one,  there  being  no  twins. 

When  we  reached  Louisville  I  gathered 
up  my  own  traps,  the  lady's  hat-boxes,  suit- 
cases, etc.,  and,  bending  under  my  burden, 
started  through  the  waiting-room  of  the 
Union  Depot.  I  was  young  then,  and  timid. 
The  expressions  of  amusement  and  pity  on 
the  faces  of  the  crowd  embarrassed  and 
puzzled  me.  But  I  understood  it  all  when  I 
reached  the  door  and  looked  back.  The  chil- 
dren were  strung  out  one  behind  the  other, 
and  the  lady  of  the  flesh  brought  up  the  rear 
like  Mahomet's  mountain  following  the 
prophet.  The  children  had  been  taught  to 
take  off  their  hats  in  the  house — and  every 
last  one  of  them  was  red-headed. 

During  my  younger  days  I  held  a  revi- 
val in  a  small  town  in  Mississippi,  and  made 
my  home  at  the  leading  hotel  in  the  village, 
which  was  run  by  a  member  of  the  church. 
Near  the  public  square,  in  front  of  the  post- 
office,  was  a  horizontal  bar.  This  bar  was 
very  popular  with  the  merchants  and  cus- 
tomers when  there  were  no  dog-fights  or 
games  of  marbles  to  attract  their  attention. 


94  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

One  day  the  crowd  called  on  the  "parson" 
to  show  what  he  could  do.  I  had  not  been 
out  of  college  very  long,  and  could  do  more 
real  stunts  on  the  "pole"  than  in  the  pulpit. 
I  swung  on  my  knees,  my  arms,  and  the 
small  of  my  back.  When  I  went  to  dinner 
my  hostess  said:  "What  have  you  been 
doing  over  in  town,  brother?"  "Nothing; 
why?"  was  my  answer.  "My  porter  came 
home  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  told  us  that 
you  got  up  on  that  acting-pole  and  went 
round  and  round  so  fast  you  looked  just 
like  a  rosebud."  That  was  one  time  I 
could  have  passed  for  an  American  Beauty. 
Not  far  from  this  place,  a  few  years 
later,  I  had  an  experience  which,  if  I  had 
not  been  born  red-haired,  would  have  made 
me  red-headed.  I  was  holding  a  camp-meet- 
ing. The  tabernacle  was  a  big  affair  that 
seated  about  twelve  hundred  people.  It 
would  seat  more,  if  some  of  them  stood  up. 
The  floor  was  covered  with  sawdust,  and 
made  a  most  hospitable  asylum  for  dogs 
and  fleas.  The  tabernacle  was  pretty  well 
filled  at  every  service.  I  hesitate  to  state 
the  number  of  dogs  that  attended  the  meet- 
ing. However,  as  most  of  the  people  in 
that  section  of  the  county  came,  most  of  the 
dogs  came  also.  Of  course  each  dog 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  95 

brought  his  fleas  with  him.  There  was 
such  a  general  distribution  and  mixing  of 
fleas  that  when  the  meeting  came  to  an  end 
no  one  could  tell  whose  fleas  from  whose. 
Whatever  may  be  true  as  to  "hookworms" 
in  the  South,  none  of  those  fleas  were 
afflicted  with  them. 

I  never  could  understand  why  dogs  have 
such  a  desire  to  attend  meetings.  My 
preaching  always  seemed  to  have  peculiar 
attraction  for  them,  and  they  have  been  a 
source  of  great  annoyance  to  me.  Once  a 
little  dog  sat  down  in  the  aisle  in  front  of 
the  pulpit  and  looked  up  at  me  in  such  an 
appreciative  way  that  I  got  nervous  and 
asked  some  one  to  remove  him.  No  one 
undertook  the  job,  so  I  stepped  down  out 
of  the  pulpit,  caught  him  back  of  the  neck, 
walked  to  the  door,  and  pitched  him  out  in 
the  yard.  When  I  returned  to  the  pulpit 
and  looked  down,  there  he  sat.  But  he  was 
not  alone,  but  had  brought  another  one 
with  him. 

One  day  at  the  camp-meeting  I  mentioned 
above,  an  old  farmer  sat  on  the  front  seat 
in  the  tabernacle,  and  under  the  spell  of  my 
eloquence  fell  into  a  trance.  Some  rude  fel- 
lows said  he  was  asleep.  He  was  smoothly 
shaven  except  for  a  long  fringe  of  whiskers 


96  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

under  his  chin.  His  elbows  rested  on  his 
knees,  his  head  in  his  hands.  His  or  some 
other  fellow's  hound  came  through  the 
tabernacle  on  a  tour  of  inspection.  When 
he  saw  the  calm,  peaceful  face  of  the  farmer 
he  stopped  and  wagged  his  tail  most 
heartily.  Suddenly  his  head  shot  forward, 
and  his  long,  moist  tongue  swept  the 
farmer's  face  from  the  hair  under  his  chin 
to  the  hair  above  his  forehead.  The  spell 
of  my  eloquence  was  broken.  The  farmer 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  with  a  well-placed 
kick,  sent  the  hound  about  five  feet  in  the 
air.  I  say  five  feet.  That  may  be  a  little 
extravagant,  but  I  know  he  went  up  four 
feet  in  the  air.  The  ungenerous  response 
of  the  farmer  to  the  affectionate  greeting 
of  the  dog  disgusted  him,  and  with  a  yelp 
of  dismay  he  lit  out  for  home.  I  was 
sorry,  for  there  was  much  similar  work  for 
that  hound  to  do  that  day. 

This  spectacular  duet  of  the  farmer  and 
the  hound  came  very  nearly  breaking  up  the 
service.  It  had  a  most  demoralizing  effect 
on  the  young  people  in  the  audience;  and 
the  young  man  who  was  leading  the  singing 
with  his  cornet,  and  who  sat  on  the  platform, 
and  had  watched  the  whole  performance 
with  intense  interest,  laughed  so  heartily 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  97 

that,  there  being  no  back  to  his  bench,  he 
fell  over  backwards,  and  wedged  himself  in 
between  the  pews,  and  I  had  to  stop  preach- 
ing long  enough  to  pull  him  out. 


98  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 


XI. 

TWENTY  MILES  FROM  A  RAILROAD. 

For  several  days  during  December, 
189 — ,  I  could  be  seen  walking  about  the 
campus  of  the  University  with  my  hands 
shoved  down  into  my  pockets,  my  chin 
drawn  down  between  the  ears  of  my  collar, 
my  eyes  squinted,  and  my  tongue  asleep.  I 
had  a  bad  case  of  the  blues,  and  could  have 
said  with  Antonio: 

"In  sooth,  I  know  not  why  I  am  so  sad; 
It  wearies  me;  you  say  it  wearies  you. 
But  how  I  caught  it,  found  it,  or  came  by  it, 
What  stuff  'tis  made  of,  whereof  it  is  born, 
I  am  to  learn; 

And  such  a  want  wit  sadness  makes  of  me, 
That  I  have  much  ado  to  know  myself." 

While  in  this  condition  I  was  made  a 
proposition  to  teach  in  one  of  our  small 
colleges,  which  I  accepted  without  asking 
where  the  town  was  in  which  the  college 
was  located.  When  I  learned  that  it  was 
twenty  miles  from  a  railroad  my  resolution 
to  go  was  considerably  shaken;  however,  I 
stuck  to  my  agreement,  and  have  never  re- 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  99 

gretted  it.  The  little  town  was  a  county- 
seat,  so  called,  perhaps,  because  so  many  of 
the  citizens  of  the  county  sat  down  there 
to  whittle,  when  they  were  not  too  busy 
playing  checkers  or  trading  horses.  The 
college  building  was  a  large  brick  structure, 
situated  in  the  best  part  of  the  town.  The 
town  itself  was  beautifully  situated  on  a 
slight  elevation,  which  sloped  in  every  direc- 
tion, affording  good  drainage.  It  was  a 
clean  little  town.  Her  people  were  cul- 
tured, cordial  and  charming. 

I  was  to  begin  my  work  in  the  college 
the  first  of  the  year.  Much  to  my  delight, 
a  friend  of  mine  in  the  University  asked  me 
to  go  home  with  him  for  the  Christmas 
holidays.  He  lived  ten  miles  beyond  the 
little  town,  and  not  in  the  direction  of  a 
railroad.  But  a  home  such  as  his,  with  its 
comforts,  its  cheer,  its  good  things  to  eat, 
and  its  love,  does  not  need  a  railroad  close 
to  it.  Some  of  my  happiest  days  were  spent 
in  his  home,  and  I  love  it. 

The  last  twenty  miles  of  our  trip  from 
Lexington  was  made  in  an  old-fashioned 
stage-coach — the  sort  with  a  big  body, 
swung  on  leather  straps.  It  had  a  huge 
leather  boot  on  the  back  to  carry  freight. 
On  the  high  seat  in  front,  by  the  driver's 


100  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

side,  was  the  man  who  gave  the  people 
along  the  road  notice  that  we  were  coming. 
This  was  done  with  an  old-fashioned  stage- 
horn.  The  night  I  made  the  trip  there  were 
twelve  passengers  inside  the  coach  and 
twelve  on  top.  The  four  big,  strong  horses 
swung  us  along  at  a  rapid  rate.  Half-way 
to  our  destination  four  fresh  horses  were 
put  to  the  stage,  and  in  a  short  time  we 
were  in  the  little  town  where  I  was  to  do 
my  first  teaching.  Next  morning  my  friend 
and  I,  with  several  other  fellows,  started 
for  his  home,  ten  miles  farther  from  the 
railroad.  The  pet,  poetical  name  of  my 
friend  was  "Bull." 

I  began  my  work  in  the  "College"  the 
first  of  the  year.  I  taught  from  eight  o'clock 
in  the  morning  until  four  in  the  afternoon. 
From  six  until  half-past  six  I  read  Greek 
with  the  Principal.  Every  morning  I  re- 
cited Hebrew  to  him,  and  every  afternoon 
from  four  until  half-past  four  I  read,  or, 
rather,  tried  to  read,  Arabic  with  him. 
After  the  class  in  Arabic  we  cut  the  wood 
to  be  burnt  in  the  four  rooms  of  the  build- 
ing, and  also  swept  out  these  rooms  and  the 
chapel.  For  exercise  we  built  the  fires 
every  morning.  I  preached  nearly  every 
Sunday.  Many  times  I  have  ridden  horse- 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  101 

back  forty-five  miles  from  Saturday  morning 
until  Sunday  afternoon,  preached  twice,  and 
received  the  munificent  sum  of  one  dollar 
and  thirty-five  cents,  and  had  fully  thirty 
cents  after  paying  for  my  horse.  I  know 
what  it  is  to  feel  like  thirty  cents. 

My  first  appointment  was  about  four 
miles  from  the  "College."  The  thermom- 
eter registered  eight  degrees  below  zero.  I 
walked  to  this  appointment  Sunday  morning 
and  back  home  that  afternoon.  As  my 
traveling  expenses  were  nothing,  I  came  out 
even  financially  on  the  trip. 

One  Sunday  night  I  went  home  from  a 
church  in  another  part  of  the  county  with 
one  of  the  brethren.  The  next  morning  at 
the  breakfast-table  the  young  hopeful  of 
the  family,  as  soon  as  he  spied  me,  set  up 
a  series  of  yells  that  were  worthy  of  twins, 
and  refused  to  be  comforted.  His  father 
insisted  on  knowing  the  cause  of  the  dis- 
turbance. "You  said  you  were  going  to 
bring  the  preacher  home  with  you  I"  "Why, 
this  is  the  preacher,"  said  the  father.  "No, 
it  ain't,  either,"  he  yelled,  "he  ain't  got  no 
whiskers." 

One  of  my  regular  appointments  was 
with  a  delightful  little  church  about  four 
miles  from  the  "College."  I  preached 


102  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

there  on  Saturday  afternoon  and  Sunday 
morning  once  a  month.  One  Saturday  I 
was  advised  not  to  make  the  trip,  as  it  had 
rained  hard  the  night  before  and  the  creek 
which  was  between  me  and  the  church  was 
out  of  its  banks  and  was  dangerous  to 
cross.  I  borrowed  a  small  gray  filly,  how- 
ever, and  determined  to  make  the  effort.  I 
know  better  now  than  to  try  to  fill  an  ap- 
pointment on  a  filly  when  the  creek  is  too 
well  filled.  She  was  exceedingly  frisky  and 
rather  uncertain.  The  man  that  owned  her 
would  let  anybody  ride  her  in  order  to  save 
the  expense  of  having  her  broke  to  the 
saddle,  and  I  was  willing  to  ride  anything 
that  any  one  would  let  me  have,  in  order 
to  cut  down  expenses  and  to  keep  from 
being  broke.  When  I  reached  the  creek, 
which  was  after  several  very  exciting  excur- 
sions into  the  woods  on  either  side  of  the 
road,  I  found  it  full  and  overflowing,  and 
rushing  like  a  mill-race,  but  I  started  boldly 
in.  When  about  midway  of  the  stream  I 
was  forced  to  stick  my  feet  straight  out  in 
front  of  me.  This  forced  the  filly  to  kick 
straight  out  behind  her  and  toward  the 
skies.  But  for  the  fact  that  I  grew  sud- 
denly very  fond  of  the  filly  and  quickly  em- 
braced her  around  the  neck,  I  would  have 


A   RED-HEADED    MAN  103 

been  thrown  into  the  water,  and  these  rec- 
ollections would  be  anything  but  dry.  Fi- 
nally, after  much  excitement,  and  when  I 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was 
nothing  in  the  universe  but  water,  and  that 
was  full  of  filly,  she  got  her  head  turned 
upstream,  and  went  kicking  and  plunging 
up  the  creek  for  about  twenty  yards.  By 
that  time  I  was  in  the  saddle,  and  headed 
her  toward  the  bank.  In  a  few  minutes  I 
was  on  the  side  of  the  creek  toward  the 
church,  but  too  wet  to  be  in  a  good  humor 
and  too  cold  to  be  happy.  While  I  sat 
there  trying  to  think  of  words,  not  incom- 
patible with  my  calling,  that  would  express 
my  opinion  of  horses  in  general  and  a  cer- 
tain filly  in  particular,  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  me  to  imagine  the  impression  I  would 
have  made  on  some  of  the  members,  had 
they  seen  me  in  the  creek.  The  very 
thought  was  so  ludicrous  that  I  burst  into 
a  loud  laugh.  This  relieved  my  feeling, 
but  frightened  the  filly,  and  she  lit  out  up 
the  road  like  a  quarter-horse.  I  had  on  a 
long  overcoat,  which  had  during  the  previ- 
ous performance  become  unbuttoned,  and 
as  the  filly  went  up  the  road  my  coat 
streamed  out  behind  like  a  flag  in  a  stiff 
breeze.  Every  time  the  filly  jumped  the 


104  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

coat-tail  popped,  and  every  time  the  coat- 
tail  popped  the  filly  jumped.  I  was  in 
despair;  for  I  knew  that  one  or  the  other 
had  to  wear  out  before  the  filly  would 
come  down  to  the  dignified  pace  befitting 
the  calling  of  her  rider.  I  wanted  the  filly 
to  wear  out  first,  as  I  never  desired  to  ride 
her  again,  and  I  did  not  know  where  I 
could  get  another  coat  that  I  could  wear  as 
long  as  that  one.  About  half  a  mile  from 
the  creek  there  was  a  sharp  turn  in  the 
road,  and  as  we  swept  around  it  we  passed 
a  member  of  the  church  going  to  town.  His 
horse  made  frantic  efforts  to  get  through 
the  fence  in  its  commendable  desire  to  give 
us  the  entire  pike.  As  we  passed  I  waved 
my  hand  and  my  coat-tail  at  him,  but,  as 
the  filly  had  a  pressing  engagement  down 
the  road,  I  did  not  stop  to  shake  hands. 

When  I  reached  the  church  I  found  no 
one  there.  On  account  of  the  rain,  they 
did  not  expect  me.  Wet  and  tired,  I  rode 
over  to  the  home  where  I  was  to  spend  the 
night.  It  was  my  first  visit  there,  but  by 
no  means  the  last.  It  was  one  of  the  best 
homes  in  the  county  and  one  of  the  finest 
families  in  the  State.  The  head  of  the 
house  was  a .  -good  man,  and  exceedingly 
well-to-do,  but  was  peculiar  in  that  he  spent 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  105 

very  little  on  himself.  His  wife  offered 
me  his  Sunday  suit,  but  I  refused  it.  After 
that  the  best  she  could  do  was  to  give  me 
a  pair  of  low  quartered  shoes — not  mates 
and  without  strings,  dry  underclothing, 
white  yarn  socks,  and  a  pair  of  blue  linen 
pants  about  four  inches  too  short.  Fortu- 
nately, my  Prince  Albert  was  dry.  When 
I  came  down  into  the  parlor  clad  in  blue 
linen  pants  four  inches  too  short,  low 
quartered  shoes,  white  yarn  socks,  and  a 
Prince  Albert  coat,  I  made  an  impression 
on  that  family  they  have  never  forgot,  nor 
have  I. 

Next  day  my  clothes  were  dry  and  I 
reached  church  without  any  serious  acci- 
dent. After  services  I  made  an  effort,  diffi- 
cult but  successful,  to  mount  my  unregen- 
erated  steed.  Close  to  the  church  was  a 
large,  open,  grassy  space.  Over  near  a 
high  fence  a  number  of  the  brethren  and 
sisters,  with  their  children,  had  gathered 
to  watch  with  pride  their  pastor's  skill  in 
horseback-riding.  This  pride  had  been 
greatly  augmented  by  the  thrilling  recital 
of  the  brother  who  had  met  me  on  my  way 
from  the  creek.  I  drew  the  lines  tight,  put 
one  foot  in  the  stirrup,  but  just  as  the  other 
foot  went  up  into  the  air,  the  filly  lit  out. 


106  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

The  manner  in  which  I  had  drawn  the 
bridle-reins  caused  her  to  go  in  a  circle. 
Around  and  around  we  went,  filly  and 
pastor,  the  former  making  a  circle  with 
four  feet  on  the  earth,  the  latter  describing 
a  circle  with  one  foot  in  the  air.  Men, 
women  and  children  sought  places  of  safety. 
The  smaller  ones  went  through  the  cracks 
in  the  fence,  but  the  larger  ones  got  stuck. 
Some  went  over  the  fence,  some  took  to 
the  bushes,  and  some  went  under  the 
church.  Finally  I  got  into  the  saddle,  and 
a  gray  streak,  trimmed  with  red,  went  down 
the  big  road  at  a  rate  of  speed  altogether 
out  of  harmony  with  the  peace  and  quietude 
of  the  "Sabbath." 

One  of  the  most  faithful  members  of 
this  church  was  a  young  fellow  about  my 
age.  He  had  sandy  hair  and  rode  a  sandy- 
haired  mule.  He  lisped — the  member,  not 
the  mule.  One  Sunday  I  arrived  early  at 
the  church,  and  while  talking  to  one  of  the 
elders,  my  sandy-haired  friend  rode  up, 
hitched  his  sandy-haired  mule,  and  joined 
in  the  conversation.  As  he  did  not  shake 
hands  with  the  elder,  nor  speak  to  him,  I 
concluded  he  did  not  know  him.  I  immedi- 
ately introduced  him,  but,  as  I  had  forgot 
the  elder's  name,  I  did  not  call  it.  "Oh, 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  107 

yes,"  was  the  reply,  "that's  all  right,  but  I 
know  him  real  well;  he's  my  father." 

One  Sunday  morning  while  preaching  in 
this  church  I  noticed  a  large,  fat  woman  in 
the  audience.  She  was  a  stranger,  and 
was  seemingly  most  deeply  interested  in 
my  sermon.  After  the  services  she  shook 
hands  with  me  most  cordially,  and  attempt- 
ed to  press  something  into  my  hand.  I  let 
her  press.  It  felt  like  a  five-dollar  bill.  It 
felt  that  way,  not  because  I  knew  how  a 
five-dollar  bill  felt,  but  because  I  was  in 
such  urgent  need  of  a  piece  of  money  that 
would  feel  like  a  five-dollar  bill.  I  thanked 
her  most  profusely,  and  could  hardly  wait 
to  get  out  to  where  I  had  my  horse  hitched 
to  see  just  what  it  was.  At  last  I  got  my 
horse  between  me  and  the  crowd,  and  my 
five-dollar  bill  turned  out  to  be  a  small 
pink  tract  on  "How  to  Obtain  the  Blessing 
of  Entire  Sanctification."  I  refused  then, 
and  I  refuse  now,  to  say  just  what  I 
thought. 

I  regret  to  say  that  the  pink  tract  was 
never  read.  No  doubt  you  would  be  sur- 
prised to  learn  how  blue  a  pink  tract  can 
make  a  preacher,  and  how  nearly  a  tract 
on  sanctification  can  come  to  spoiling,  tem- 
porarily, what  sanctification  a  fellow  has. 


108  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

My  feelings  in  the  matter  can  be  better  ap- 
preciated when  I  inform  you  that  I  have 
ridden  horseback  eighteen  miles,  preached 
two  sermons,  and  received  several  hearty 
congratulations.  I  once  rode  ten  miles,  de- 
livered a  lecture  on  "The  Life  and  Labors 
of  Paul,"  for  which  I  received  one  dollar 
and  twenty-five  cents,  one  dollar  of  which 
sum  I  paid  for  my  horse.  I  agreed  to 
preach  once  a  month,  for  one  church,  at 
the  enormous  salary  of  twenty-five  dollars 
per  year.  I  received  a  little  more  than 
seventeen  dollars  for  the  year's  work,  gave 
them  three  extra  months  in  an  effort  to 
collect  the  balance,  and  paid  more  than  ten 
dollars'  horse-hire  reaching  the  appoint- 
ment. I  preached  once  a  month  for  three 
months  for  one  church,  and  received  my 
pay  from  one  of  the  elders  as  follows: 
"We  are  much  obliged."  Such  pay  helps 
the  heart,  but  it  is  rather  hard  on  the 
stomach.  However,  I  do  not  regret  a  sin- 
gle experience,  and  I  am  glad  I  never  re- 
fused to  preach  my  best,  even  when  my 
pay  was  the  poorest,  and  that  I  never  re- 
fused to  go,  pay  or  no  pay.  The  people 
were  not  to  blame.  They  had  never  been 
taught  to  pay.  They  were  not  stingy. 
Their  homes  were  always  open  to  me,  and 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  109 

they  gave  me  the  best  they  had.  I  was 
treated  like  a  prince.  Somehow  they 
seemed  to  think  that  the  gospel  was  free, 
and  they  did  not  wish  to  interfere  with  the 
established  custom  of  keeping  it  free. 


110  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 


XII. 
SOCIAL  LIFE  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY. 

While  a  part  of  the  great  ocean  of  life, 
colleges  and  universities  are  to  a  consider- 
able degree  land-locked  seas.  They  have 
their  calms  and  storms;  their  hidden  rocks 
and  harbors  of  safety;  their  big  and  little 
vessels,  some  for  work  and  some  for  pleas- 
ure; their  pirates  and  discoverers;  their 
freighters  and  dreadnaughts ;  their  disman- 
tled ships  and  those  that  safely  make  the 
port.  Yet  the  university  waters  are  not 
entirely  isolated.  The  ebb  and  flow  of  the 
great  outside  ocean  are  felt  on  their  shores. 
Blasts  from  the  furious  ocean  storms  stir 
the  sails  of  the  ships  within  the  harbor,  and 
wreck  some  of  those  that  venture  too  near 
the  storm-tossed  ocean  without.  Wreckage 
from  the  ocean  drifts  into  the  sea  and  dis- 
ables some  of  the  weaker  vessels,  while  the 
stronger  ones  use  the  winds  to  fill  their  sails 
for  great  voyages.  Some  of  the  boys  be- 
come mere  stowaways  or  roustabouts  on 
these  vessels,  or  become  masters  of  tramp 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  111 

ships  that  never  affect  the  world  for  real 
worth,  while  others  become  masters  of 
splendid  ships  which  enrich  the  world  with 
their  merchandise  and  discoveries. 

The  "University,"  while  a  small  ocean 
within  itself,  had  its  waters  constantly  dis- 
turbed by  the  wind  and  traffic  of  the  outside 
world.  Our  professors  kept  abreast  of  the 
times,  our  platform  had  on  it  the  best  lec- 
turers before  the  American  public,  and  the 
social  life  of  the  fashionable  world  had  a 
most  intimate  connection  with  the  Univer- 
sity's "Four  Hundred."  I  regret  to  state 
that  many  of  those  who  reached  "four  hun- 
dred" on  the  social  ladder,  never  climbed 
much  higher  than  "seventy-five"  on  the 
class  ladder.  The  greater  the  grace  exhib- 
ited by  them  in  their  social  functions,  the 
greater  the  grace  necessitated  on  their  be- 
half in  the  classroom  by  their  teachers. 

On  the  morning  of  the  inauguration  of 
Governor  Bradley  of  Kentucky,  as  was  my 
daily  custom,  I  attended  chapel  services  in 
historic  old  Morrison  Chapel.  I  had  on 
my  best  clothes.  The  shine  on  my  shoes 
rivaled  that  on  the  crown  of  Professor  Mil- 
ligan's  head;  my  black  cutaway  coat  had  a 
tail  to  be  proud  of,  and  my  pants  were  still 
warm  from  the  tailor's  iron.  I  was,  in 


112  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

fact,  the  latest  thing  in  clothes  that  morn- 
ing. So  late,  indeed,  that  I  came  nearly 
being  too  late  for  chapel  exercises. 

From  chapel  I  went  to  Professor  Ellet's 
room  to  spend  an  hour  in  fruitless  endeavor 
to  follow  him  in  his  matchless  flights  of 
geometrical  eloquence.  In  the  midst  of  his 
oration,  when  he  had  just  projected  a  line, 
one  end  of  which  was  fastened  to  the  horns 
of  Capricorn  and  the  other  end  tied  to  the 
trident  of  Neptune,  and  was  preparing  to 
bisect  it  with  another  line  starting  from  the 
helmet  of  Mars  and  ending  I  have  never 
learned  where,  there  came  a  loud  rap  on 
the  door  which'  awakened  every  member 
of  the  class.  The  rap  startled  the  Professor, 
and  he  accidentally  cut  his  line  on  the 
glittering  sword  of  Perseus.  He  found  the 
end  of  his  line,  tied  it  to  the  tail  of  the 
Bear,  and  opened  the  door.  I  may  be 
mixed  in  these  lines,  but  I  was  busy  studying 
astronomy  among  the  twinkling  stars  of  the 
heavenly  faces  of  the  earthly  bodies  of  our 
co-eds.  During  the  study  I  had  fallen 
asleep.  The  knock  on  the  door  called  me 
to  earth  again  just  as  Venus  and  I  were 
drinking  from  the  Milkaway  with  the  Great 
Dipper,  and  Aurora  was  making  glorious  the 
dawn  of  a  new  day  when  Eros  would  be 


A   RED-HEADED    MAN  113 

king.  After  the  Professor  opened  the  door 
and  had  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the 
author  of  the  disturbance,  he  turned  to  the 
class  and  informed  me  that  I  was  wanted 
in  the  hall.  As  I  went  out  I  was  fully 
aware  that  the  eyes  of  every  young  lady  in 
the  class  were  full  of  admiration  and  the 
heart  of  every  young  man  full  of  envy.  My 
sartorial  effect  on  that  class  was  something 
of  which  to  be  proud. 

In  the  hall  Ash  Brook  was  waiting  for 
his  prey.  During  vacation  Ash  sold  fruit- 
trees  and  lightning-rods.  This,  and  other 
graces  not  necessary  for  me  to  mention  here, 
earned  for  him  among  the  student  body  the 
honorable  title  of  "The  Defender  of  the 
Truth."  He  began  at  once  a  recitation  of 
his  troubles.  He  was  going  to  the  inaugural 
ball  at  Frankfort;  he  had  ordered  a  pair  of 
black  trousers  for  the  function,  but  the 
tailor  had  disappointed  him;  it  was  nearly 
time  for  the  train  to  leave,  and  he  must 
have  my  black  trousers  at  once.  For  a 
short  time  there  was  an  animated  discussion, 
but  eventually  we  were  seen  to  enter  the 
dormitory  and  go  into  the  room  of  a  "Bibe" 
who  had  left  his  door  unlocked.  In  a  short 
time  Ash  was  seen  hurrying  across  the  cam- 
pus, and  I,  his  victim,  was  left  standing  in 


114  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

the  middle  of  the  room,  holding  in  my 
hands  a  pair  of  tan-colored  trousers,  terri- 
bly warped,  and  bagged  at  the  knees.  My 
humiliation  was  great.  Putting  them  on  was 
a  necessary  performance.  I  was  several 
blocks  from  home,  and  could  not  afford  to 
fail  to  report  back  in  the  classroom.  Geom- 
etry, like  smallpox,  is  a  thing  a  man  gets 
enough  of  the  first  time.  "Marks"  with 
both  indicate  whether  or  not  you  have 
passed.  My  only  showing  to  be  "marked" 
sufficiently  to  pass  was  to  get  perfect  in 
attendance. 

Whatever  may  have  been  true  as  to  the 
relative  length  of  heads,  Ash's  legs  were 
shorter  by  about  three  inches.  Worse  and 
more  of  it,  he  was  bowlegged.  It  was  one 
of  the  unsolved  problems  of  the  "Univer- 
sity" whether  the  parenthetical  expression 
of  his  legs  was  caused  by  the  excessive 
weight  of  his  generosity  or  from  using  a 
keg  for  a  hobby-horse  before  his  legs  were 
properly  set.  However,  whatever  may  have 
been  the  solution  of  the  problem,  I,  a  dis- 
ciple of  Euclid,  very  nearly  dislocated  my 
knee-joints  in  my  efforts  to  get  into  those 
trousers.  I  have  heard  of  people  taking 
off  their  hats  to  those  who  got  the  best  of 
them,  but  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be  com- 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  115 

pelled  to  take  off  my  knee-caps  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  superiority  of  those  trousers 
to  all  my  efforts.  I  rejoice  to  say  that  I 
reached  the  class  before  adjournment,  but 
my  name  was  Ichabod — my  glory  was  de- 
parted. The  tan  trousers  failed  to  make 
connection  with  my  patent-leather  shoes,  and 
their  disgraceful  curve  forced  my  compan- 
ionable knees  far  apart.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  when  I  entered  the  room  I  received 
an  ovation.  That  night  in  Frankfort  a  pair 
of  black  trousers  "danced  till  the  break  of 
day,"  but  in  Lexington  a  pair  of  tan  pants 
hung  on  my  wall  like  a  great  wish-bone. 

Speaking  of  pants  recalls  the  fact  that 
pants  are  very  useful  and  often  exceedingly 
hard  to  get.  No  one  more  fully  realized  this 
than  did  I  when  I  was  in  the  "University." 
While  Newt  and  I  were  roaming  out  on 
North  Broadway,  near  Sixth,  there  came  a 
great  stringency  in  the  money  market  which 
seemed  to  localize  itself  in  our  room.  About 
the  best  we  could  do  was  to  keep  ourselves 
in  coal  and  our  landlady  in  good  humor. 
This  not  only  necessitated  our  wearing  our 
pants,  but  also  our  coats,  longer. 

There  was  in  the  firm  one  real  good 
pair  of  pants.  They  did  double  duty. 
About  the  time  these  were  demanding  the 


116  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

company  of  an  overcoat,  Russ  entered  the 
"University"  and  moved  his  trunk  to  our 
room.  He  brought  a  fresh  supply  of  money, 
a  part  of  which  was  immediately  invested  in 
a  new  pair  of  pants. 

The  pants  had  not  been  in  the  room 
many  days  before  I  received  an  invitation 
from  a  young  lady,  living  on  High  Street, 
to  attend  a  social  gathering  that  night  at 
her  home.  "We  are  going  to  have  a  good 
time  and  plenty  of  ice-cream  and  cake," 
she  said,  and  added,  "Now,  be  sure  to 
come,  and  don't  fail  to  bring  Mr.  Newt." 
I  was  expecting  her  to  invite  him,  and 
tried  to  head  off  the  invitation,  but  failed. 
However,  I  promised  to  be  there,  and  to 
deliver  her  invitation  to  Newt.  Also  I  in- 
sisted that  it  would  not  be  at  all  necessary 
for  her  to  say  anything  to  him  about  it.  I 
knew  he  loved  ice-cream  and  cake,  and, 
being  fully  aware  of  how  seldom  such  table 
comforts  came  our  way  at  the  boarding- 
house,  I  felt  very  sorry  for  him.  I  also 
loved  ice-cream  and  cake,  but  was  too  un- 
selfish to  feel  sorry  for  myself,  so  I  at  once 
made  up  my  mind  to  let  Newt  stay  at  home. 
Besides,  I  did  not  want  him  to  feel  sorry 
for  me.  Frequently  I  find  sympathy  embar- 
rassing, and  I  am  so  timid  that  embarrass- 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  117 

ment  frustrates  me  so  "I  have  much  to-do 
to  know  myself."  After  supper  the  night 
in  question,  when  I  returned  to  my  room  I 
was  dismayed  to  find  Newt  with  the  pants 
on,  calmly  sitting  by  the  fire.  For  a  moment 
I  was  completely  rattled,  for  he  had  on  the 
only  pair  of  pants  fit  for  social  functions 
other  than  lawn  or  skating  parties  or  such 
other  outdoor  gathering  as  would  call  for 
an  overcoat.  The  question  which  agitated 
the  gray  matter  under  my  copper-colored 
dome  was  how  to  get  the  pants  without  re- 
signing from  the  "Ancient  Order  of  George 
Washington"  and  unduly  arousing  the  sus- 
picion of  the  owner  of  the  pants.  In  a  care- 
less sort  of  way  I  informed  him  that  I  had 
to  fill  an  important  engagement  and  the 
pants,  and  if  it  would  not  inconvenience  him 
too  much,  I  would  be  pleased  to  exchange 
pants  with  him.  Without  manifesting  much 
concern,  I  began  my  toilet,  and  by  the  time 
I  was  ready  for  the  pants  the  pants  were 
ready  for  me. 

After  I  had  the  pants  on  and  securely 
fastened,  I  began  to  enlarge  upon  my  en- 
gagement. I  told  him  where  I  was  going 
and  all  about  the  refreshments.  This  ex- 
cited him,  and  a  number  of  times  he  ex- 
pressed disappointment  and  amazement  at 


118  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

not  having  received  an  invitation.  My 
heart  went  out  to  him  in  his  trouble,  but 
my  legs  stayed  in  the  pants.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  such  sympathy  in  the  world. 
I  completed  my  toilet  at  last,  and  as  I  went 
out  the  door  I  called:  "Oh,  by  the  way, 
Newt,  the  young  lady  told  me  to  be  sure  to 
insist  upon  your  coming."  There  was  the 
noise  of  an  overturned  chair,  and  as  I  went 
out  the  gate,  lowering  any  track  record  ever 
made  in  the  "University,"  the  door  opened 
and  above  the  clatter  of  my  heels  I  heard 
the  command:  "Bring  my  pants  back  here 
at  once."  But  I  was  going  too  fast  to  stop 
without  tearing  the  pants,  and,  besides,  I 
recalled  the  old  proverb,  "If  the  pants  fit 
you,  wear  them." 

Professor  Teufelsdrockh  was  not  mis- 
taken when  he  said:  "Clothes  give  us  in- 
dividuality, distinction,  social  polity."  In- 
deed, in  the  eyes  of  many,  clothes  are  the 
man.  It  is  not  what  is  in  the  clothes,  but 
what  is  on  the  man.  The  eyes  of  many 
seem  to  be  closed  to  all  but  clothes.  Two 
of  the  "University"  boys — Russ  and  Dick 
— had  been  to  Salvisa  to  fill  the  former's 
appointment,  and  on  their  way  back  were 
forced  to  remain  in  Lawrenceburg  for  sev- 
eral hours.  They  took  advantage  of  the  lay- 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  119 

off  to  attend  the  exercises  at  a  barber-shop. 
It  was  sort  of  a  skin  game.  Russ  was  a 
rather  handsome  fellow  in  those  days,  and, 
with  his  new  suit  on,  his  six  feet  of  athletic 
young  manhood  was  exceedingly  attractive 
to  the  bootblack.  The  shine  artist  had  just 
polished  his  shoes  and  was  at  work  on 
Dick's.  Looking  up,  he  said:  "Who's  dat 
young  fellow  over  dar?"  "That  is  a  young 
preacher  from  the  Bible  College  at  Lexing- 
ton," replied  Dick.  "No,  sir,  boss,  he's  no 
preacher;  he's  a  gen'leman." 

He  was  not  mistaken  as  to  his  being  a 
gentleman.  Among  all  the  students  in  the 
"University"  with  whom  I  came  in  contact, 
and  they  were  hundreds,  I  am  certain  that 
outside  of  one  select  circle  but  few  failed  to 
measure  up  to  the  standard  of  a  gentleman. 
There  was  one  "select  circle,"  however, 
numbering  nearly  fifty,  that  could  not  count 
in  all  their  crowd  one  gentleman.  A  single 
gentleman  was  not  permitted  among  them. 
Had  he  been  permitted,  he  would  not  have 
remained  single  long.  They  were  the  girls 
of  the  "University,"  and  their  crimson 
cheeks  were  the  college  colors. 

For  the  benefit  of  the  better  informed 
readers,  the  writer  desires  to  state  that  he 
is  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  "pants"  is 


120  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

considered  inelegant  in  Boston.  No,  not  the 
article  itself,  but  the  word.  In  naming 
this  garment  I  should  say  "trousers."  But 
I  object;  for  if  this  should  become  the  uni- 
versal custom,  what  would  become  of  our 
old  friend,  the  joke  about  the  dog's  lungs 
being  the  seat  of  his  pants?  Confidentially, 
let  me  say  that  if  the  seat  of  the  dog's  pants 
was  as  dilapidated  as  the  seats  in  most  of 
the  pants  in  the  room  of  the  writer,  during 
the  stringency  in  the  money  market  referred 
to  above,  the  dog  would  die  of  a  hole  in 
his  lungs. 

On  one  occasion  a  very  charming  young 
lady  was  gracious  enough  to  invite  me  to 
her  coming-out  party.  (Excuse  the  digres- 
sion, but  every  time  I  see  a  lady  in  one  of 
these  up-to-date,  down-in-the-neck,  split  con- 
traptions I  am  in  mortal  terror  for  fear 
the  party  will  come  out.  It  is  my  opinion 
that  such  dresses  are  in  poor  taste,  even  if 
they  do  at  times  show  good  form.)  On 
my  way  to  the  function  I  stepped  into  a 
florist's  to  get  a  few  dozen  roses.  Down 
in  Mississippi,  when  I  was  a  boy,  if  you 
asked  some  one  for  a  rose,  you  would  be 
given  a  pair  of  scissors  and  an  invitation 
to  go  out  in  the  yard  and  help  yourself. 
So  you  can  see  how  wholly  unprepared  I 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  121 

was  for  the  ordeal  through  which  I  was  to 
pass.     With  joy  in  my  heart  and  a  quarter 
in   my   pocket,    I    asked    the    florist    for    a 
dozen    pink    rosebuds.       It    was    fortunate 
I  said  "buds."     "I  have  no  buds,"  he  an- 
swered, "but  I  can  let  you  have  some  full- 
blown   roses."      Something   in   his   look   or 
tone    prompted   me    to    grasp    "buds"    and 
,  swing  on  to  them.     "I  am  sorry,"  I  replied, 
"but  let  me  see  the  roses."     With  that  he 
set  out  a  jar  of  as  beautiful  roses  as  ever 
[I  saw.     I  can  not  explain  it,  but  somehow 
[he  looked  more  like   a  man  behind  a  gun 
[than  a  man  behind  the  roses.     With  great 
iemphasis    on    "buds"    I    said:    "Those    are 
"beautiful,    but    I    prefer    'buds';    however, 
what   are   they  worth?"      "Twelve   dollars 
per  dozen,"   was   his   calm   reply.      I   grew 
suddenly    dizzy.      Every    rose    in    the    jar 
seemed  to  grin   at  me   as  it  nodded  me   a 
heartless  good-by.     However,  I  rallied,  and, 
grabbing  at  "buds"  with  greater  desperation 
and   determination   than    any   love-sick   girl 
ever  swung  on  to  another  girl's  "bud,"   I 
steadied   my   voice,    and,    with   my   quarter 
clinched  in  my  hands,  I  bowed  and  backed 
out  of  the  store,  saying  as  I  went:  "Thank 
you,   sir,   they  are   indeed  beautiful,   but  I 
prefer  'buds.'  " 


122  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 


XIII. 
VACATION  EXPERIENCES. 

My  first  vacation  after  entering  the 
"University"  was  spent  in  Memphis.  Such 
was  the  confidence  of  the  members  of  the 
Linden  and  Mississippi  Avenue  Churches  in 
the  ability  of  the  Bible  College  to  make  a 
preacher  out  of  raw  material  in  one  term 
that  I  was  not  simply  invited,  but  almost 
forced  to  occupy  their  pulpits.  Newt  suf- 
fered from  the  same  confidence,  as  did 
both  congregations.  A  few  Sundays  after 
our  arrival  I  preached  my  first  sermon  in 
the  Mississippi  Avenue  Church.  The  ther- 
mometer stood  at  100  in  the  shade,  but  I 
stood  150  in  my  Prince  Albert.  The  con- 
gregation has  been  too  charitable  to  say 
what  they  stood. 

My  aim  was  to  preach  about  twenty-five 
minutes.  The  text  of  my  sermon  was, 
"Prepare  to  meet  thy  God."  The  context 
was  everything  I  could  think  of,  and  more 
things  than  I  had  ever  thought  of  before. 
I  heard  one  of  the  boys  preach  on  this  same 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  123 

text,  in  the  colored  church  on  Constitution 
Street  in  Lexington.  When  he  finished 
his  discourse  an  old  deacon  came  forward, 
looked  with  compassion  upon  the  brother, 
and  said:  "Breth'en  and  sisters,  we  come 
out  here,  this  mornin'  to  heah  a  serment. 
Our  young  brother  has  preached  on  'Pre- 
pare to  meet  thy  God,'  but  I  is  satisfied  none 
of  us  have  come  prepared  to  heah  sich  a 
serment."  I  am  persuaded  that  the  con- 
gregation that  heard  me  was  in  a  similar 
state  of  mind.  After  what  seemed  to  me 
an  hour,  and,  no  doubt,  to  the  congregation 
a  foretaste  of  eternity,  I  looked  at  the 
clock.  To  my  horror,  it  had  marked  off 
only  ten  minutes.  My  situation  was  des- 
perate. I  had  reached  the  most  important 
and  interesting  part  of  the  sermon,  the  con- 
clusion; but  I  felt  compelled  to  make  that 
sermon  at  least  fifteen  minutes  longer.  My 
heart  melted  within  me.  My  body  had 
long  before  this  melted  within  my  Prince 
Albert.  Had  my  flow  of  words  equaled 
my  flow  of  perspiration,  I  would  be  still 
running  a  race  with  Tennyson's  "Brook." 
After  several  times  "repeating  for  the  sake 
of  emphasis,"  and  when  I  had  told  all  I 
knew,  all  I  thought  I  knew,  and  many 
things  I  knew  I  knew  nothing  about,  I  once 


124  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

more  ventured  to  look  at  the  clock.  The 
hands  had  not  moved  a  second,  but  had 
"stopped  short  never  to  move  again."  For 
some  reason,  it  could  never  afterwards  be 
made  to  keep  time.  For  nearly  sixty  min- 
utes I  had  made  a  windmill  of  myself,  and 
I  have  ever  since  been  thankful  that  there 
was  no  "Don  Quixote"  in  the  audience, 
reckless  enough  to  assault  me. 

The  following  Sunday,  Newt  preached 
his  first  sermon  from  the  same  pulpit.  His 
notes  were  distributed  over  several  pieces 
of  paper.  His  thoughts  were  distributed 
over  the  interim  between  the  Garden  of 
Eden  and  the  last  "Amen"  of  "Revelation." 
The  day  being  excessively  hot,  he  endeav- 
ored to  use  a  large  palmetto  fan.  In  the 
midst  of  one  of  his  finest  flights  he  used  his 
fan  too  vigorously,  and  his  notes  flew  some 
on  their  own  account.  It  was  an  unusual 
but  interesting  sight  to  see  several  deacons 
chasing  sermon  notes,  while  the  preacher, 
like  a  "bird  with  a  broken  wing,"  fluttered 
around  the  pulpit. 

Two  or  three  Sundays  after  this  Newt 
went  down  in  Mississippi  to  preach  for  a 
small  congregation  not  far  from  the  Ten- 
nessee line.  A  friend  went  with  him,  and 
when  the  collection  was  being  taken,  to 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  125 

stimulate  the  brethren  to  give  liberally, 
dropped  a  silver  dollar  in  the  basket.  The 
deacon  carefully  examined  the  dollar,  and 
then  called  to  the  deacon  on  the  other  side 
of  the  church:  "Come  on  back,  brother,  you 
needn't  go  any  further;  we've  got  enough; 
save  the  rest  for  the  next  preacher."  I  was 
the  next  preacher,  and  "the  rest"  was  nearly 
enough  to  pay  street-car  fare  over  and 
above  my  railroad  expenses.  A  short  time 
afterwards  the  brother  who  was  respon- 
sible for  our  preaching  in  that  church  com- 
mitted suicide.  As  there  was  no  apparent 
cause  for  such  a  rash  act,  and  as  he  made 
no  explanation  about  it  afterwards  himself, 
there  were  some  who  said  it  was  because 
of  the  sermons  he  heard.  They  argued  that 
he  had  never  done  such  a  thing  before,  that 
the  deed  was  committed  shortly  after  hear- 
ing the  last  sermon,  and  that  they  had  felt 
a  similar  inclination  immediately  after  hear- 
ing us. 

During  this  vacation  I  preached  one 
night  in  the  Methodist  Church  in  Horn 
Lake,  Mississippi.  There  was  a  fairly 
good  audience.  (It  was  my  first  sermon  in 
that  community.)  I  made  a  great  effort, 
taxing  my  lungs  to  their  fullest  capacity. 
Only  one  in  the  audience  went  to  sleep,  but 


126  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

he  snored  with  such  vociferous  variations  in 
every  known  and  unknown  key  on  the 
scale  of  sound  that  no  one  else  could  sleep. 
As  he  was  the  man  who  had  invited  me 
down  there  to  preach  I  was  greatly  dis- 
gusted at  his  unctuous  disregard  of  my  most 
frantic  pneumatic  efforts,  which  were  al- 
most sufficient  to  puncture  my  inner  tube. 
Singing  the  last  song  waked  him  up,  and  as 
soon  as  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  he 
came  forward,  grasped  my  hand,  and  in  a 
loud  voice  exclaimed:  "Brother,  I  never  en- 
joyed a  sermon  so  much  in  all  my  life."  I 
was  glad  he  slept;  for  he  was  the  only  one 
in  the  audience  to  compliment  the  sermon. 
This  reminds  me  of  another  compliment.  I 
have  an  aunt,  who  is  now  well  on  towards 
her  eighty-sixth  birthday.  For  many  years 
she  has  been  very  deaf.  When  I  first  began 
my  ministry,  I  attempted  to  fill  the  pulpit 
of  our  church  in  my  home  town.  My 
mother,  who  was  too  ill  to  attend  the  ser- 
vice, asked  Aunt  Eliza  how  she  liked  the 
sermon.  "It  was  splendid;  Ira  is  a  great 
preacher,  Jane,"  was  her  reply.  "Did  you 
hear  him,  'Liza?"  asked  my  mother.  "No, 
Jane,  not  a  word;  but  he  looked  like  he  was 
preaching  a  big  sermon."  Moral:  If  your 
ears  can  not  compliment  a  fellow,  give  your 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  127 

eyes  a  chance.  Moral  No.  2 :  If  you  can 
not  preach,  look  as  if  you  can.  By  the 
way,  you  can  make  your  own  and  the  life 
of  every  other  fellow  much  more  enjoyable, 
if  you  look  for  the  pleasant  rather  than 
the  unpleasant  thing  as  you  journey  along. 
I  have  made  it  a  custom  to  turn  everything 
I  hear  about  me  into  a  compliment,  if  it  is 
possible  to  do  so.  It  makes  me  so  much 
happier,  and  I  never  found  pleasure  in 
being  unhappy.  It  may  sound  strange  to 
you,  but  I  have  found  some  people  that  are 
never  happy  unless  they  are  miserable. 
They  will  go  out  of  their  way,  and  jump 
over  banks  of  roses,  to  land  in  a  briar 
patch.  Others  ignore  the  scratch  of  the 
thorn  in  their  enjoyment  of  the  perfume 
and  beauty  of  the  rose  which  blooms  just 
above  the  thorn.  Some  will  not  eat  cab- 
bage for  fear  of  the  snake  they  think  is  in 
it,  while  others  kill  snakes  to  get  the  cab- 
bage. A  man  and  his  wife  were  walking 
through  a  lumber-yard.  The  husband  said, 
"Wife,  isn't  that  an  awful  odor?"  "I 
rather  like  it,"  she  replied.  "Like  it,  wife? 
What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  "Nothing; 
I  have  always  liked  the  smell  of  fresh  sawed 
lumber."  "Oh,  I  am  not  talking  about 
lumber;  just  turn  this  way,  and  smell  this 


128  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

old  pond."  "Smell  it  yourself,"  she  an- 
swered; "I  prefer  to  smell  the  lumber." 
Friend,  you  are  the  boss  of  your  own  nose: 
do  not  complain  at  the  rottenness  of  the 
world  because  you  keep  your  nose  over  a 
stagnant  pond  when  there  is  a  yard  full  of 
fresh  sawn  lumber  all  around  you. 

Some  time  during  April,  189 — ,  I  re- 
ceived a  communication  from  the  church  at 
Texarkana,  stating  that  I  had  been  recom- 
mended to  them  as  a  proper  man  to  fill 
their  pulpit  during  the  summer.  They  also 
desired  to  know  what  sort  of  a  preacher  I 
was,  and  what  I  thought  I  was  worth  per 
month.  I  wrote  them  that  I  was  surprised 
that  any  one  would  recommend  me,  as  I 
had  only  preached  nine  times;  that,  if  I 
knew  what  sort  of  a  preacher  I  was,  I  was 
too  modest  to  tell  them,'  and  that  I  had 
never  put  a  price  on  my  ability.  I  might 
have  told  them  what  I  was  worth  by  the 
year,  but  the  amount  seemed  too  small  to  be 
divided  by  twelve.  To  my  astonishment,  I 
received  a  call,  and  the  promise  of  fifty 
dollars  per  month.  I  accepted,  and  began 
my  work  there  on  the  first  of  May. 

On  my  way  down  the  train  stopped  for 
a  short  time  in  Little  Rock.  To  get  a  little 
fresh  air,  and  to  give  my  mind  a  vacation 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  129 

from  its  constant  contemplation  of  the  im- 
mensity of  that  fifty  dollars  per  month,  I 
went  out  on  the  back  porch  of  the  Pullman. 
As  soon  as  I  got  there  a  "gentleman"  said: 
"My  friend,  won't  you  smile  with  me?"  I 
am  nearly  always  in  a  good  humor,  and 
never  neglect  an  opportunity  to  smile,  so  I 
immediately  responded:  "Why,  of  course, 
I  am  always  glad  to  smile  with  any  me."  I 
had  hardly  finished  my  reply,  when  the  fel- 
low poked  a  bottle  at  me  nearly  half  as 
long  as  his  arm,  and  said:  "Help  yourself; 
smile  as  often  as  you  want  to."  Excusing 
myself  by  saying  that  I  did  not  know  before 
what  an  Arkansaw  smile  was,  and  that  I 
never  indulged  in  such  smiles,  I  beat  a  hasty 
retreat  into  the  car.  After  my  berth  was 
ready,  and  we  had  left  Little  Rock  far 
behind,  I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of 
bottled  smiles — bottled  in  bond  and  Ar- 
kansaw. Maybe  the  man  who  drank  it 
smiled.  Of  course  the  saloon-keeper  who 
sold  it,  and  the  distiller  who  made  it,  and 
the  people  who  were  willing  to  get  the 
revenue  from  it,  smiled.  No  doubt  the 
demons  in  hell  smiled  as  men  drank  the 
stuff  that  makes  demons  on  earth,  and 
transforms  homes  into  hells.  But  there  are 
no  smiles  on  the  face  of  the  man  who,  while 

9 


130  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

filled  with  it,  takes  the  life  of  a  friend  or 
an  enemy.  There  are  no  smiles  on  the 
faces  of  broken-hearted  wives  and  mothers, 
nor  do  they  show  through  the  tears  of  starv- 
ing, ragged  children.  That  was  not  a  bottle 
of  smiles.  It  was  full  of  shrieks  and  sobs, 
cries  of  despair  and  ravings  of  desperate 
men  and  women,  and  moans  of  dying  hope. 
There  were  no  smiles  there  that  play  on 
the  lips  of  babes  and  beautify  the  face  of 
old  age;  but  it  was  filled  with  painful  pov- 
erty that  steals  smiles  from  the  lips  of 
childhood  and  robs  old  age  of  its  joy.  If 
there  were  smiles  in  that  bottle,  they  were 
stolen  from  babes  and  brides  and  mothers; 
they  were  smiles  that  mocked  peace,  enticed 
virtue,  and  snared  youth  to  debauchery  and 
old  age  to  disgrace.  Oh,  the  pity  that  the 
sunshine,  which  smiled  o,n  the  field  of  grain, 
should  be  brewed  into  bottle  of  disaster, 
and  not  baked  into  bread  of  prosperity! 
Upon  my  arrival  in  Texarkana  I  was 
surprised  to  find  no  delegation  of  church- 
members  at  the  depot  to  meet  me.  I  did 
not  know  so  much  about  those  things  as  I 
do  now,  and  perhaps  my  estimation  of  my 
own  importance  may  have  been  a  little 
excessive.  Being  anxious  to  look  as  much 
like  a  preacher  as  possible,  I  went  at  once 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  131 

to  the  best  hotel  in  the  city,  and  adorned 
myself  with  my  Prince  Albert  coat  and  the 
most  approved  ministerial  expression.  With 
my  ministerial  coat  on  and  with  my  voice 
far  enough  down  in  my  throat  to  satisfy 
the  most  orthodox,  I  went  into  a  barber- 
shop and  deposited  myself  in  a  chair.  The 
colored  barber  lathered  my  face,  and,  while 
stropping  his  razor,  said:  "Boss,  how  long 
has  you  been  in  our  town?"  "Not  very 
long,"  I  answered.  "Yes,  sah,"  he  con- 
tinued; "how  does  you  lak  our  town?"  "Oh, 
pretty  well,  pretty  well,"  was  the  reply,  in 
a  voice  which  had  its  habitation  in  the 
region  of  the  diaphragm.  "Dat's  right, 
boss,  dat's  right,"  exclaimed  this  tonsorial 
son  of  Ham,  "but  you  would  lak  Hot 
Springs  a  heap  better;  dere's  lots  more 
sportin'  characters  dere." 

While  in  Texarkana  I  administered  the 
ordinance  of  baptism  for  the  first  time. 
Here,  also,  the  first  response  was  made  to 
my  appeal  at  the  conclusion  of  my  sermon. 
A  gentleman,  aged  about  fifty,  came  for- 
ward one  night,  gave  me  his  hand,  and 
informed  me  that  he  wished  to  put  his  mem- 
bership in  the  church.  I  was  very  much 
excited  and  got  things  a  little  mixed.  I  told 
the  audience  that  the  man  was  a  very  great 


132  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

sinner,  that  he  had  wandered  away  from 
the  church,  and  had  come  to  ask  forgiveness 
and  to  be  received  again  into  the  fellowship 
of  the  church.  All  the  time  I  was  talking 
the  brother  was  making  motions  and  signs 
for  me  to  stop,  but  the  more  the  brother 
motioned,  the  more  and  the  worse  I  said. 
Finally,  in  a  desperate  effort  to  stop  me,  he 
got  me  by  the  coat-tail  and  pulled  me  out 
of  the  pulpit.  He  then  informed  me  that 
I  was  mistaken  in  my  estimation  of  him; 
that  he  was  not  a  bad  man,  and  was  not 
coming  to  confess  his  sins,  but  to  place  his 
membership  in  that  congregation.  I  went 
back  into  the  pulpit,  apologized,  told  them 
I  was  greatly  mistaken  in  the  man,  and  for 
them  not  to  believe  anything  I  had  said 
about  him.  However,  after  knowing  him 
better,  I  think  I  was  mistaken  when  I  was 
mistaken. 

I  worked  hard  and  faithfully  for  four 
months,  and  in  September  returned  to  Lex- 
ington and  again  entered  the  "University.1* 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  133 


XIV. 
ORATORY  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY. 

No  educational  institution  has  a  more 
substantial  right  to  boast  of  her  public 
speakers  than  the  "University."  She  has 
produced  a  number  of  truly  great  orators; 
and  a  host  of  speakers,  who  rise  above  the 
average,  made  their  debut  in  "Morrison 
Chapel."  At  least  two  things  operate  to 
produce  this  happy  result:  The  "University" 
students  are  taught  something  to  say,  and 
they  have  boundless  opportunities  to  say 
the  something  they  are  taught.  The  pro- 
fessors come  in  personal  contact  with  the 
students  and  encourage  all  their  efforts  at 
oratory.  It  is  a  matter  of  no  small  pride 
to  all  of  us,  that,  whether  our  college  mates 
went  out  as  preachers  or  lawyers,  they  have 
taken  honorable  rank  in  the  pulpit  or  at 
the  bar.  While  standing  in  a  jewelry  store 
some  years  ago,  in  Port  Gibson,  Mississippi, 
a  neatly  dressed  darky,  about  thirty  years 
old,  entered,  shook  hands  with  me,  and 
said:  "Doctor,  I  have  great  confidence  in 


134  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

your  ability,  and  I  would  like  to  get  you 
to  help  me."  I  was  agreeable,  and  told 
him  I  would  be  glad  to  render  any  assist- 
ance in  my  power.  "I  am  a  graduate  of 
Alcorn  College,  and  have  great  confidence 
in  your  ability,"  he  continued,  "and  I  want 
you  to  help  me."  I  again  indicated  my 
willingness  to  render  all  the  aid  in  my 
power,  and  asked  him  what  I  could  do  for 
him.  To  this  he  replied:  "Well,  I  have 
great  confidence  in  your  ability,  and  need 
your  help.  I  have  not  known  the  pardon 
of  my  sins  more  than  three  months,  and 
have  been  made  chairman  of  the  board  of 
deacons  of  the  Baptist  Church.  Now,  what 
I  want  to  know  is,  how  to  functiate  my 
capacity."  The  "University"  teaches  her 
graduates  how  to  "functiate  their  capacity," 
and  there  is  not  a  place  on  the  earth  where 
the  sun  shines  365  days  in  the  year  where 
they  are  not  found  "functiating  their  capac- 
ity" in  the  varied  vocations  that  engage  the 
attention  of  civilized  men. 

From  opening  day  in  September  to  clos- 
ing day  in  June,  oratory  of  every  brew  is 
on  tap  in  the  "University,"  and  nearly  every 
matriculate  is  a  faucet.  They  are  getting 
ready  for  the  contests.  The  three  principal 
contests  are  "The  Transylvanian  Gold 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  135 

Medal,"  "Representative  in  the  Intercolle- 
giate," and  "Representative  in  the  Chau- 
tauqua  Contest."  I  entered  all  three,  and 
lost  the  best  two  out  of  the  three.  I  won 
the  "Transylvanian" ;  but  had  it  not  been 
for  the  decision  of  the  judges,  I  would  have 
won  the  other  two,  and  on  the  same  ground 
might  have  lost  the  one  I  did  win. 

The  honorable  title  "Fiery-crested  Ora- 
tor" was  conferred  upon  me  by  one  of  the 
students  of  the  "University,"  who  lived  in 
Logan  Hall,  ate  graham  bread  and  sor- 
ghum, studied  hard,  and  was  honor  man  of 
his  class.  It  was  given  in  the  fierce  heat 
of  a  controversy  carried  on  through  the 
columns  of  one  of  our  college  papers. 
Forged  in  the  heat  of  controversy,  and 
hurled  with  all  the  force  of  his  mighty 
pen,  it  stuck.  The  "Fiery-crested  Orator" 
has  always  felt  satisfied  with  the  title,  and 
also  with  the  result  of  the  controversy. 

The  day  following  one  of  the  contests, 
which  was  lost  by  the  "F.  C.  O.,"  I  was 
accosted  by  a  gentleman  as  I  was  on  my 
way  to  town,  who  asked  me  whether  or  not 
I  was  a  "University"  man.  Being  answered 
in  the  affirmative,  he  said:  "How  about  the 
contest  last  night?  Is  the  fellow  that  won 
a  good  speaker?"  "Be  sure  he  is,"  was 


136  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

my  reply;  "he  is  more  than  good,  he  is  fine; 
he  beat  me."  I  have  never  been  able  to 
figure  out  where  the  comfort  and  glory 
come  in  from  diminishing  the  strength  and 
skill  of  the  fellow  that  licked  me.  When 
I  am  licked  I  desire  that  it  be  fully  known 
that  it  took  some  man  to  do  the  job. 

For  at  least  a  month  before  these  con- 
tests come  off  the  "University"  is  as  full  of 
orators  as  a  calendar  of  dates  or  a  dormi- 
tory boarder  of  prunes.  The  very  air  of 
the  campus  is  malarious  with  eloquence; 
and  oratory  becomes  epidemic.  To  appre- 
ciate this  you  must  bear  in  mind  that  before 
the  final  contest  in  "Morrison  Chapel"  there 
are  several  primary  contests  for  each  event. 
These  are  open  to  any  and  all  who  wish  to 
enter.  From  the  close  of  classes  to  the 
closing  of  the  big  front  doors,  every  room 
in  the  two  main  buildings  is  windy  with  its 
orator;  and  the  orators  are  at  it  again  from 
the  opening  of  the  doors  next  morning  until 
Bill  rings  the  big  bell  for  chapel.  During 
recitation  hours  each  of  the  many  society 
halls  resounds  with  such  agonies  of  elo- 
quence that  the  busts  of  Cicero  and  Demos- 
thenes weep  for  the  laurels  of  the  Forum 
and  Mars'  Hill.  The  rooms  in  the  dormi- 
tories are  full  of  oratory  all  day  long  and 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  137 

far  into  the  night.  Those  who  pass  along 
North  Broadway  at  night  can  hear  these 
orators  pouring  forth  eloquence  to  the  stars 
from  various  places  of  advantage  on  the 
classic  porch  of  "Morrison  Chapel."  So 
moving  are  these  efforts  that  in  the  spring 
the  trees  on  the  campus  fill  their  trunks  and 
leave. 

Besides  the  contests  mentioned  above, 
there  must  also  be  counted  the  numerous 
declamatory  contests;  the  orations,  declama- 
tions and  debates  in  the  literary  societies 
every  Friday  night;  the  platform  full  of 
Washington  Birthday  orators;  the  semi  and 
final  open  sessions  of  all  the  societies;  class 
day  orators;  intersociety  and  intercollegiate 
debates;  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  final 
exercises  of  all  the  departments  of  the 
"University." 

The  contests  and  open  sessions  held  in 
"Morrison  Chapel"  are  high  festivals.  The 
finest  orchestra  in  the  city  is  secured.  Every 
seat  in  the  chapel  is  taken.  The  auditorium 
is  filled  with  expectancy,  enthusiasm  and 
carbon  dioxide.  The  band  plays;  the  ora- 
tors, escorted  by  their  ushers,  march  upon 
the  platform  where  Andrew  Jackson  and 
Marquis  de  la  Fayette  have  spoken,  and 
Albert  Sidney  Johnston  and  Jefferson  Davis 


138  RECOLLECTIONS   OF 

have  said  their  pieces,  and  the  champions 
of  the  orators  endeavor  to  outdo  each  other 
with  applause  for  their  favorites.  It  thrills 
me  now  to  think  of  it  all. 

Before  and  after  each  speech  the  ushers 
mingle  with  the  audience  to  get  whatever 
is  to  be  sent  up  to  the  orators.  This  is 
done  so  that  those  who  wish  to  send  up 
bricks  can  deliver  them  without  danger  of 
injuring  the  furniture  or  walls  of  the  chapel. 
Sometimes  books  and  flowers  are  sent  up, 
but  generally  the  orators  are  snowed  under 
with  notes.  They  are  written  by  friends 
and  foes,  the  former  to  encourage,  but  the 
latter  to  discourage  the  speaker.  It  is  an 
unheard-of  thing  for  the  friends  of  one 
orator  to  interfere  with  another  orator 
while  he  is  speaking,  but  they  are  justifiable 
in  getting  him  rattled  before  he  speaks,  and 
guying  him  after  his  oration  is  ended.  To 
those  who  are  not  in  the  atmosphere  of 
these  occasions,  this  may  seem  a  little  hard, 
but  the  boys  never  so  considered  it.  To  the 
contrary,  it  put  them  on  their  mettle;  and, 
besides,  these  contests  were  all  a  part  of 
their  preparation  for  the  real  contests  of 
their  public  life. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  just  before 
the  contest  began,  the  four  orators  of  the 


A   RED-HEADED   MAN  139 

evening  were  waiting  in  the  anteroom  for 
the  time  to  arrive  for  them  to  go  upon  the 
platform.  One  of  the  speakers,  whose  liver 
was  somewhat  out  of  order,  took  some  liver 
pills  from  his  pocket  and  put  them  in  his 
mouth.  One  of  his  competitors,  observing 
the  performance,  asked  what  he  was  taking. 
"Liver  pills,"  was  the  reply.  The  ques- 
tioner, whose  mind  was  on  his  oration,  un- 
derstood him  to  say  "delivery  pills,"  and 
asked  him  how  many  were  a  dose.  "From 
two  to  four,"  was  the  reply.  The  questioner, 
whose  voice  was  dry  and  husky  from  the 
constant  flow  of  hot  air,  sometimes  mis- 
taken for  eloquence,  through  his  wind-pipe, 
said:  "Well,  I  am  in  a  pretty  bad  fix;  let 
me  have  six  of  them."  He  received  them, 
slowly  chewed  and  swallowed  them.  Soon 
the  band  began  the  grand  march,  and  the 
orators  marched  upon  the  platform  and 
took  their  seats.  He  of  the  husky  voice 
was  the  last  speaker.  The  room  was  close 
and  warm;  and  before  his  time  came  an  un- 
seemly commotion  began  to  make  itself  felt 
beneath  his  vest.  At  last  the  time  of  his 
triumph  arrived.  Believing  himself  a  cer- 
tain winner,  he  arose  filled  with  ambition, 
hope  and  "delivery  pills."  The  commotion 
under  his  vest  became  more  unseemly.  With 


140  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

face  as  pale  as  ashes  and  in  a  voice  agoniz- 
ing in  its  despair,  he  exclaimed:  "Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  before  the  dawn  of  history 
— you  will  have  to  excuse  me;  some  enemy 
has  done  this."  With  that  he  rammed  his 
handkerchief  into  his  mouth  and  made  for 
the  fresh  air. 

He  afterwards  insisted  that  had  it  not 
been  for  the  "delivery  pills,"  he  would  have 
won  the  medal  for  oratory.  However,  it 
was  generally  conceded  by  eye-witnesses 
that  he  was  entitled  to  a  medal  for  speed. 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  141 


XV. 
ONE  MORE  WORD  AND  I  AM  DONE. 

One  day  a  rather  bright  young  fellow 
was  sent  to  the  board  to  solve  a  problem. 
His  place  at  the  board  was  near  the  stove, 
and  the  stove  was  red  hot.  Toward  the 
latter  part  of  the  recitation  hour  the  pro- 
fessor, addressing  him,  said:  "Are  you 
done,  Mr.  Smith?"  "One  side  of  me,  Pro- 
fessor," was  his  immediate  reply.  I  am 
nearly  done,  and  with  the  telling  of  two 
more  little  stories  I  shall  be  completely  done. 

While  visiting  a  member  of  my  congre- 
gation one  day,  in  a  certain  Kentucky  town, 
I  was  much  interested  in  watching  a  little 
child  crawling  about  the  room.  He  was  a 
bright,  beautiful  boy,  and  as  happy  as  a  sun- 
beam in  a  garden  of  roses.  On  a  table  near 
the  window  was  a  handsome  candelabrum. 
The  refracted  rays  of  its  prisms  fell  upon  the 
carpet  like  broken  bits  of  rainbow;  and  with 
thoughtless  glee  the  little  fellow  crawled  over 
the  floor,  catching  with  eager  fingers  the  bits 
of  colors.  When  he  would  open  his  fingers 


142  RECOLLECTIONS    OF 

and  find  no  pieces  of  rainbow  there  the  joy 
would  die  from  his  face  and  tears  would 
start  from  his  eyes;  but  as  soon  as  he  would 
look  around  and  see  the  colors  still  scattered 
over  the  floor  he  would  smile  again  and  con- 
tinue his  chase.  Finally,  worn  out  with  going 
from  one  bright  spot  to  another,  he  fell 
asleep  among  his  illusive  pretties.  There 
were  tears  on  his  lashes,  and  the  smile  had 
faded  from  his  lips.  It  was  a  beautiful  pic- 
ture, but  a  sad  one.  Sad  because  it  was  a 
miniature  of  the  life  of  many  thoughtless 
people,  who,  chasing  the  gay,  bright  pleas- 
ures of  life,  fall  asleep  at  last,  empty-handed, 
empty-hearted  and  unfitted  to  die.  They  are 
Lorenzos,  pleasure-seekers,  who,  spending 
their  lives  devouring  the  apple  of  pleasure, 
come  at  last  to  the  grave,  ashes  on  their  lips 
and  a  tasteless  core  in  their  hands.  Life  is 
duty,  not  pleasure.  We  should  see  how  much 
we  can  put  into  life,  not  how  much  we  can 
get  out  of  it. 

"O  ye  Lorenzos  of  our  age !  who  deem 
One  moment  unamused,  a  misery 
Not  made  for  feeble  man !    Who  call  aloud 
For  every  bauble  driv'd  o'er  by  sense ; 
For  rattles,  and  conceits  of  every  cast, 
For  changes  of  follies,  and  relays  of  joy, 
To  drag  your  patient  through  the  tedious  length 
Of  a  short  winter's  day — Say,  Sages !  say, 


A    RED-HEADED    MAN  143 

Wits,  Oracles !  say,  dreamers   of  gay  dreams  ! 
How  will  you  winter  an  eternal  night, 
Where  such  expedients  fail?" 

I  have  seen  the  bright,  happy  side  of 
life,  and  I  have  seen  the  dark,  sad  side.  I 
have  been  with  my  friends  in  the  green  pas- 
ture and  beside  the  still  waters,  and  I  have 
gone  with  them  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death.  But  in  it  all  some  of  the 
saddest  have  been  the  sweetest.  Little 
Lois  lived  with  her  parents  on  the  side  of 
the  great  hill  which  overlooked  the  city. 
She  was  six  years  old  and  was  in  the  pri- 
mary department  of  the  Bible  school  of  the 
church  for  which  I  ministered.  One  Sunday 
afternoon,  while  playing  with  some  matches 
near  a  pile  of  straw,  she  was  fatally  burnt. 
The  night  her  spirit  left  her  burnt,  pain- 
tortured  body,  she  clasped  her  little  hands 
and  said: 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep; 
I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  keep; 
'      If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 

I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  take." 

Then  she  stopped,  and,  calling  to  her 
father,  asked:  "Papa,  did  you  say  go 
straight  on  ahead,  and  I  would  find  every- 
thing all  right?"  "Yes,"  said  her  weeping 
father.  Then  her  little  hands  fell  by  her 
sides  as  she  finished: 


144  A  RED-HEADED   MAN 

"God  bless  papa  and  mamma, 
And  make  me  a  good  little  girl." 

And  now  good-by.  Let  us  take  God 
as  our  companion,  keep  straight  on  ahead, 
and  may  he  make  us  good  men  and  women 
is  the  sincere  prayer  of  the  author  of  this 
little  book,  who  has  found  more  pleasure 
than  pain,  more  roses  than  thorns,  more 
kindness  than  harshness,  more  good  than 
evil,  sunshine  behind  every  cloud,  gold  in 
all  the  dross,  triumph  in  every  struggle, 
strength  in  weakness,  glory  in  defeat,  smiles 
in  every  sorrow;  in  fact,  has  found  this 
present  world,  interpreted  in  the  light  of 
God's  word,  a  glorious  prophecy  of  a  better 
world  to  come,  and  who  is  glad  that  in  the 
distribution  of  hair  he  received  an  abundant 
supply  of  red. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    001  034  573     4 


